


Monster In Me

by mogitz



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Internal Monologue, Jam, Josh Lives, Josh POV, Josh being an asshole, Post Game Events, Post-Canon, Shameless Ripoff, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Until Dawn - Freeform, balance book inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 102,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogitz/pseuds/mogitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you want me to say? Do youuuu…want me to feel awful?"<br/>"Kinda," she admits.<br/>"I've never been worse. My life is meaningless. How can I go on-" I begin to drone, robotically. She steps towards me, cupping her hand over my mouth, frustratedly.<br/>"Aren't you even the least bit sorry?" If I'm being honest, I feel nothing. But she wants a show, and I'm bored, so I decide to see where this goes.</p><p>Josh POV. Sam/Josh Romance, Chris/Josh Bromance. Canon couples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How To Disappear Completely

**Author's Note:**

> Genre: Dramedy
> 
> Ending: All Survive, +Josh.
> 
> Pairing: [Josh/Sam]
> 
> Rating: T/M; Cursing, Sensuality, Sexual Innuendo
> 
> A/N: Okay, OKAY! Listen...  
> They say that imitation is really the sincerest form of flattery, and I do everything I can to not be too influenced by other's work but I am truly in love with Coldmackerel's portrayal of Josh Washington in The Balance Book. So, I started playing around and this... just kinda happened… sorry not sorry. (Throws it at you and runs away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1: How to Disappear Completely  
> Josh's shrink session borders on inappropriate in Josh's eyes.  
> Josh begins (attempting) to write apology letters. He's not good at it.

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter One:**

_How to Disappear Completely_

_aka_

_That One Time My Shrink Asked Me About My Jerking-Off Habits_

* * *

No car. No phone. No Facebook (which I hate anyway). No outside or unnecessary contact – which isn't a problem considering everyone I know hates me. I don't think I'll ever be allowed to own a gun or order three-foot-wide saw blades with my dad's credit card again. Oh, and I'm under constant (and I  _guess_  understandable) supervision. I'd say this was a lot like being grounded, if a breach in these rules resulted in a stern talking to like on Full House and not a stint in the clink… you know. Like Oz.

I wouldn't last in prison. This face would definitely get me into all sorts of predicaments, most of which are the homoerotic shenanigans I tend to try and avoid. Then again, a few weeks in that joint and who knows what I'd do for a cigarette at that point.

_So….yeah._

I guess I did a pretty shitty thing and now I'm paying for it. I don't remember much of it, so it's hard to be quote-unquote remorseful about it – especially since somewhere in the back of my mind I'm still quite sure that they deserved it. I don't tell my shrink that though. He'll make me start coming four days a week instead of three again, which would be a headache considering I'm not allowed to drive. Or do anything fun. Or anything NOT fun, for that matter.

I ask my mom on my way out the door to therapy if she thinks I'm ready to get a job or something…anything to pass the time. She just laughs and laughs and continues by me with her basket of laundry.

I ask Dr. Finke the same question – He raises his eyebrows and nods, jotting something down and commending me on my enthusiasm to reacquaint myself with the world. But he doesn't say anything else, which makes me feel stupid for even asking. He then asks me if I'm angry anymore.

"I wasn't ever  _angry,"_  I defend, albeit meekly, and he knows I'm lying. He's not as condescending as Dr. Hill was – Dr. Hill who referred me to Dr. Finke. I wasn't allowed to keep seeing Hill after I got off my meds, tried to terrorize my best friends and then my parents blamed him for not properly treating me. Poor guy. I sent him a letter but he sent it back. Dr. Finke said I'm not allowed to talk to him either.

"What emotion would you say you're feeling today?" I hate the way he asks me this, mostly because I feel like I'm in preschool again. Stolen juice-box flashbacks rear through me, but not unlike T-Swift's haters, I shake 'em off.

"Impatient," I say, my eyes scanning and evaluating his bland, unappealing office. Taupe drapes… I then wonder to myself where I learned a stupid word like ' _taupe.' Fucking home shopping network_ … See? Too much time on these hands.

 _"Impatient,"_  he repeats, another scribble on his paper. He could be drawing me like one of his French girls, for all I know. A part of me kinda hopes he is. "Do you have somewhere to be?" I narrow my eyes.

"You know I don't, but way to rub it in, Doc," I banter, only partially serious. He's good at salting the wound.

"What have you been doing with all your spare time?"

"Oh, you know. Watching movies. Checking the fridge every few minutes. Learning how to cook meth. Masturbating. The unusual." Only one of those was a lie.

"I see. Thinking of anything in particular?" I instantly regret my attempt at being funny, and assume he's referring to the last thing on my list. I tilt my head, my jaw becoming slack as I rub my tongue against the smoothness of the back of my teeth. I mull it over. What a creepy thing that is to ask another dude. I was just being a shithead; he seems genuinely intrigued.

"Uh… I don't…" I scratch the back of my head. I feel dirty now. "…really feel like discussing that-" I stammer uncomfortably.

"Rule number one of psychology, Josh," he says, his face completely blank. It is so fucking hard to read this guy; it makes me uneasy. Like he's wearing a mask. "No one brings anything up that they don't at least subconsciously want to discuss." I feel the urging of a chuckle in my throat. I'd better not laugh in his face, though. He has the meds and the papers that the judge goes over.

"I can most assuredly promise you, I don't wanna talk about that. Like…  _at all._ " Not sure how much clearer I can be with this guy. How long is this session, anyway?

"I just meant, is there anything out of the ordinary?"

 _"No,"_  I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and pushing my eyebrows together. I. Am. Appalled. Actually, not really. But I'm certainly going to be talking to my parents about switching from Dr. Finke if he doesn't knock this Freudian shit off.

"Very well," he sighs, almost as though he's disappointed, and I just hope he's ready to move the conversation out of Creepville. "Have you been working on your letters?"

_Oooooooops._

He means my apology letters. I'm not allowed to directly initiate contact with my 'victims' but he thinks that writing the letters will help me begin to take responsibility for my actions that night… er… something like that. I only listen to half of what he says, anyway.

"Yeah," I say, but it sounds like another lie. Therapists are trained to see right through that, right?

"Oh really." Yeah, he's not buying it.

 _"Yeah,"_  I say again, with more conviction. I've gone too far now. Can't go back.

"Who did you address first?"

"Sam," falls out of my mouth first. Not sure why, but that's always the name that comes to mind first. Even though I know I'm mad at her... for  _some_  reason.

"And? What are you sorry to Sam about?" he asks.

"I'm..." I utter, with no idea where this sentence is going. "Because I might have scared her. You know.  _A little_."

"What makes you think that, Joshua?"  _Um._  I chased her around with a serial killer mask on and terrorized her in a towel… and only barely got to catch a glimpse of her naked, I might add. The bubbles in that bath were  _far_  too dense. Seeing her in all her naked glory would have been a plus for me, but I realize would have only made her even madder at me now if I'd seen her goodies on top of everything else.

"I mean… she didn't deserve to be in on the prank that night," I relent, trying to focus back on his question, and less on Sam's goodies. My admission that she shouldn't have been in on my prank was the first time I've ever said anything like that. Maybe this shrink is getting somewhere with me. "She was always a good friend to my sisters and… she was really nice to me when they were missing." It sounds so simple coming out of my mouth, but it's literally the hardest question he's asked me yet.

"Then why did you include her?" he asks. I pretend like I don't hear him. I'm too busy looking out the window at the pouring rain. It's gonna be a long walk home. "Is it because you were angry at her for not reciprocating your feelings for her?" That gets my attention. I snap my head back in his direction and click my tongue.

 _"Not…entirely_  sure what you're talking about."

"If you were working on her apology letter first, obviously she means a great deal to you-"

 _"Noooo,"_  I correct, and I can literally feel my eyes bugging out like they do when I'm embarrassed or stressed or backed into a corner. I lean forward but refuse to uncross my arms – shrinks read into that kinda stuff. Like I'm opening up or something. "I just chose her because she's the least  _guilty."_

"Wouldn't you say… that Sam was merely an innocent bystander?" I squeeze my eyes shut. He's making my head hurt so I pinch the area of my nose between my eyes, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure. What is his deal today, anyway? "Hmm… Think that over and we'll talk about it next week." With his permission to leave I feel such relief I could dance. But I don't dance. I have some moves, yeah, but I just don't, okay? "And work on your letters!" he yells after me, but I'm already gone.

The receptionist out front gives me an appointment card – not sure why she even bothers anymore. We both know I come every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I hand it back to her, tell her to save a tree, and she just scrunches her nose at me, shaking her head.

"It's policy," she smiles.

"If  _we_  don't save the trees, who will?" I ask, but she looks like she is one rude patient away from snapping and killing everyone, so I take it back without giving her any more lip. I turn to the glass doors of the doctor's office and see the monsoon outside. I glance down at my phone; I know. I know, I said no cell phone. But this is literally one of those phones that parents get their 6-year-old to make sure they can call them or 911 and that's it. I'm not trusted around modern technology anymore, so nothing fancy. It doesn't even get texts.

I punch in my mom's number. She picks up instantly. She's probably waiting for my call.

"I can't walk home in this," I say, low into the receiver. Can't let anyone in the waiting room know I'm calling my mommy and begging her for a ride because I don't want to get a little bit wet. But this weather is just not acceptable to walk in.

"Honey, I'm really stuck right now. I will try to get to you soon, just wait it out in the waiting room until it slows." Ha. Wait it out in the waiting room. T _hat is what this room is for_ , I think as I glance around. _But nahhhh_. There's a bus stop outside and it's covered and I could use the fresh air anyway.

I hang up and push the doors open, relatively surprised to see that even with the wind and rain, it's really not that cold. That's what June weather will do, even for the Pacific Northwest. I pull my hood up on my head and shove my hands in my pockets, watching the water kick out from my feet as I get to the bus stop. The sound of the rain tapping on the glass encasing around the bench is almost hypnotizing.

I have some time to kill, so I reach into my black messenger's bag and pull out a notebook and a pen. The blank white page stares back at me almost intimidatingly… so many expectations. I lean back on the cool glass, pressing the pen against my lip thoughtfully.  _Dearest Samantha_ , I think to myself. Instead I just scribble  _Sam_  across the top of the page.

I move to the next line. I'm drawing a blank. Pretending to be sorry is harder than it looks.

Two kids about my age walk by and I swear they're looking at me. Whispering, their eyes full of judgment. ' _That's the crazy one_ ,' they seem to say. Dr. Finke said those feelings stem from a mixture of narcissism, paranoia and feelings of grandeur. I think that could be true. That, or they are shape-shifters. Aliens sent here to scoop me up and study my brilliant and intricate mind.

 _Sorry I kinda saw your goodies._ I promptly cross it out after I write it.  _Sorry I kinda wanted to see your goodies._

 _What?_  What the fuck is the matter with me. That session with Finke left me feeling weird; I swear his perversion rubbed off on me.

I'm still mad at Sam anyway, I think to myself as I start scratching out her name, although I'm still not  _totally_  sure why. It's all still a little fuzzy to me. Maybe it's because, of all of them, I sorta expected her to come see me when I was in the hospital. I know, it was a lot to expect after everything that had happened... But I couldn't seem to shake the feeling of betrayal.

Yeah, like I'm one to talk. I'm sure she felt the same way when I dragged her down to with the rest of them.  _Betrayed._  Why did I do that? The same headache I'd experienced in the doctor's office hits me again, harder this time, and once again I press my fingers to my nose and groan through the pain. Must be these stupid fucking meds.

I look down at my paper, now an indecisive and slightly perverted mess. I rip the page out, crumpling it beside me. New page. New start. Fuck Sam. I'll write to someone else first instead. She was too hard. There were too many things to apologize for.

 _Chris,_  I write. Bad idea, considering I wouldn't even know where to start with him, either. I reflect on Dr. Finke asking me if I'm still angry as my pen cuts deeply into the paper, spilling out its dark ink on the page.

_I'm sorry that you were too chickenshit to make a move on Ashley (who's basically a 4/10 anyway) so I had to take matters into my own hands. You're welcome-_

_What?_  No. That's just fucking mean. As I violently cross the words out, I realize something I'm actually not good at: apologizing.

" _Josh?"_  I hear my name being called. It takes a second for me to look up, and if I am totally honest with myself the sound of my name being said by someone who isn't a doctor, receptionist or parent makes me feel instantly queasy. I lift my hooded head up only barely, so if it happens to be someone I want to ignore I can just look back down and pretend that I didn't hear them.

But I blow it, like I blow everything. It's Sam. Speak of the fucking devil. I can literally feel my chest tighten and my throat run dry as she stares at me from her driver's seat, her car pulled up to the curb and her window down.

Our eyes meet, although I didn't intend for that to happen. She smiles, but it's not sincere. It's one of her nervous ones. The one that she gets when she's only pretending to want to talk to me. I've seen it before.

"Do you... need a ride?" I'm more than surprised she asked me that. More than surprised that she even stopped. Actually, I can't believe that she didn't hit the big puddle in front of me with her tires on her way by. I clench my jaw. I'm not ready. Not ready for this at all. Not ready for her to be nice to me or whatever this is. She's still there, staring at me with anticipation. It's too much.

I stand up, shoving my notebook in my bag and zipping it up before I throw it over my shoulder. I put in my earbuds, and as Radiohead fills my ears, I turn and walk off, my hands shoved deeply in my pockets.

Thom Yorke whines in my ears.

_I'm not here. This isn't happening._

I don't look back. I don't apologize. I just make a mental note to add it to her apology letter, later.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up...  
> Chapter 2: Falling Away With You  
> Sam takes up the hobby of stalking and demands he be nice, which isn't easy for Josh.


	2. Falling Away With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Falling Away With You  
> Sam takes up the hobby of stalking and demands he be nice, which isn't easy for Josh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trying to keep up the momentum created in that first chapter was a bit challenging. I hope you're enjoying it, though. I know I am. Each chapter will feature a song. And I gotta say, Josh has impeccable taste in music.

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter Two:**

_Falling Away With You_

_aka_

_That One Time A Pretty Blonde Girl Stalked Me_

* * *

Her car is wheeling slowly beside me as we have literally turned onto my street now. She's been following me since a little after the bus stop. That's about as crazy as it gets. She. Is. Relentless. I might even go as far as describing her as downright gutsy, following a psychopath like me. Who  _knows_  just what I have goin' on in  _this_  wicked brain?...

…Actually, it's not that interesting.

Movie quotes, mostly.

"Stalking is  _illegal,_  Samantha!" I shout out over my shoulder.

_"You_  would know what's illegal," she retorts, a smug and satisfied grin on her face. Only a  _little_  part of me hopes she hits a pole or something. Not enough to actually get hurt, but enough to wipe that smirk off her face. At least the rain has lessened.

"I  _mean_  it, Sam. You're gonna do  _hard_  time. Especially after I give my tear-filled testimony that puts Meryl to shame about how I no longer feel  _safe."_  It is so incredibly hard not to joke with her, the effortless and easy banter returning as though nothing has changed. But everything has changed. I fold my lips to suppress my own urge to grin.  _I'm still mad at you, Sea Siren. You shall not break me._

"Well, maybe I'll request  _your_  judge and get off with a slap on the wrist, like you did!" she quips cleverly. "Or was it daddy's magic pocketbook that made all that disappear?"  _Damnit_  why is she so witty today? I stop walking and turn towards her. My eyes narrow and it is almost painful how hard it is for me to remain straight-faced.

"That's cold, Sam.  _Ice cold_."

"Use it to soothe that burn!"  _Okay...That_  one barely even made sense. It's like the thirty-love comment all over again.

_She's such a fucking dork._

I turn back to my route, facing forward and moving along as she snorts at her own joke; I can hear it from the sidewalk. I glance at her sideways and can see her shoulders bouncing up and down in her laughter. I feel my face crack as I watch her, but I stuff it down quickly before I give her the satisfaction of seeing it.

"I'm really not supposed to be talking to you," I say, taking on a more serious tone.  _Really,_  though. If someone found out, I could get in trouble – that  _Oz-_ level trouble I mentioned before. It was part of the conditions. Leave it to Sam and unyielding persistence of all things to land me in the big house.

" _You're_  not supposed to be talking to  _me?_  Are you  _kidding_  me?!"  _That_  did it. I hear her tires screech under her abrupt breakage. "Joshua, you are incredibly lucky I'm even  _speaking_  to you after everything you've done!" she shouts at me, her words running together like wet paint. I turn my head to see her face and I kinda regret it immediately– she's not playing anymore, either. Her eyes are shooting daggers at me.

I've offended her.  _Good._  Maybe she'll go away now. The more she harasses me, the more things I'm mentally crossing off of her apology letter.

I begin up my driveway, hoping she'll take the back of my head as a hint it's time to move along. It feels like a lot longer walk than I remember, probably because I can feel her glare burning into me from behind every step of the way. It sends a shudder down my spine. I raise my hand up and give her a peace sign without looking back at her and step up onto my porch before I get inside the safety of my house.  _Aaaaaaand…_  just for dramatic emphasis, I slam the door behind me.

_Aaaaaaand_  then I lock it for my own protection. I have angered the beast and barely escaped with my life.

_"Mooooom!"_  I yell, turning around. My voice echoes back at me. It would appear she's not home. Hopefully she's not driving around, searching the neighborhood for me.  _Whoops._

I drop my bag to my side with a thud and head towards the kitchen, as per usual. This post-therapy snack has become routine, and if I remember right, there is some Chinese takeout in the fridge with my name on it – not gonna let some little run in with Sam ruin my desire for food. I  _earned_  it. Sitting in that overly air-conditioned office with Dr. Finke builds up quite an appetite in a young, strapping boy like myself.

As I pass my dining room, I see a flash of light from the corner of my eye. I twist my head around to see that the light of the post-rain, afternoon sun has hit a decorative decanter bottle on my dad's minibar. It's crystal, sending rainbow shards of light around the room, beckoningly.

It's tempting.  _Soooo tempting_. Especially after being stalked and harassed my whole way home.  _How rude._

…But, like all things fun, I'm not allowed to drink.

So, in lieu of drinking, I live vicariously through my father, who seems to be drinking enough for the  _both_  of us these days. I just make a note, day by day, of the contents of the bottle. It seems to empty and refill over and over and over and over again.

It's about half-full now…. (Or, half-empty if you fancy yourself a pessimist.)

Either way, this means that dear old dad is in for the day, usually locked away in his office where he sleeps. And eats. And lives.

Funny story, and it's actually  _true…_  my father hasn't said one word to me since it happened. Not  _one_  word in  _four_  months. That's not just mean…it's fucking  _talented!_  Have you ever tried to NOT talk to someone you share a roof with for months on end? Not even ' _pass me the salt, please_ '?

And they think I'm the one who needs therapy.

The doorbell rings. I don't remember the last time someone was at our door and I feel slightly panicked, the way an 8-year-old kid home alone for the first time might feel… instead of the rugged, manly 20-year-old on his way to the kitchen for a mouthful of cold chow mein.  _Sorry, stranger-danger, mommy and daddy said I'm not a'pposed to answer the door when they're not home._  The bell rings again. And again.

But it's not a stranger-danger. I know exactly who it is and I'm gonna kill her if she rings that bell  _one more goddamn ti-_

_"What!"_  I hiss as I pull the door open. She's standing on my front porch, her hands behind her back, staring at me through batting eyelashes and a pouted lip. Her rebound rate is remarkable.

"Can little Joshie come out an play?" I roll my eyes. This cuteness normally works on me, but she's gonna get me in trouble. Maybe she knows that. Maybe her revenge is being served as we speak. _Cue the swat team._  This feels like a trap; dangerously teetering on  _To Catch A Predator._

"Sam, seriously. Go  _away!"_  It sounds like I mean it. I'm not friendly anymore. No more jokes. My head starts to hurt and I resist the urge to let it show on my face while her brows come together in a look of… I don't even know what that is. Somewhere between offense and disgust.

"Jesus, chill out," she snips and pushes passed me. I swing the door shut behind us, gesturing my arm out to the foyer.

"Sure, come right in.  _Move_  in, for all I care-" I start to mumble bitterly. She's looking around as though she half expected it to be a gothic castle with coffins and torture devices.  _Wait… that's vampires. Not psychopaths_.

As her eyes take it all in, I realize that I forgot the fact that she'd never been here- we moved soon after the night of the prank. Too many flaming bags of poop on our porch – I suspect Mike. He seems like the only one of them who'd actually shit in a bag to get back at me. And if not, he was the only one with a dog. (But I prefer my first theory)

"This place is smaller than the last one," she observes. I lean my back against the wall of the entryway, folding my arms in front of me. I feel weird having her here- I feel weird talking to another person that isn't my mom or doctor.

"Yeah, well…" I shrug. I almost don't finish my sentence but it slips out anyway. "Less rooms to fill, I guess." Before, back when my sisters were missing, that kind of remark would elicit a hug and a kind word from her. It seems to roll off of her now. She must still be pretty pissed off.

_You broke her heart_ , my mind pipes up, but I shut that down quickly with a firm belief that she never cared for me like I thought she did, anyway.

"…So, how's it going?" she sniffs casually. That's  _IT_? Following me for a full three miles and that's what she has to say? That's what is gonna make me a prison bitch?

All those thoughts race through my mind, but my lips simply utter a quick  _'fine.'_

She doesn't look at me like she used to – I guess when she would come around after Hannah and Beth disappeared, she was handling me with kid-gloves. Now I got to see the more spirited Sam again… and I didn't even realize until now that I'd actually kinda missed her. The Sam while Hannah and Beth were missing was always so careful with me, as though I might break. I guess she had reason to believe this.

She turns to me, her face twisted into pure suspicion, as she puts her hands on her hips. She's got her feisty pants on, today, I see.

"You're  _fine,"_  she repeats, which means she's giving me time to change my answer, as that clearly wasn't the response she was looking for.

"What do you want me to say? Do  _youuuu…want_  me to be awful?" She gives a shrug.

"Kinda," she admits.

"I've never been worse. My life is meaningless. How can I go on-" I begin to drone, robotically. She steps towards me, cupping her hand over my mouth, frustratedly.

"Aren't you even the  _least_  bit sorry?" If I'm being honest, I feel nothing. But she wants a show, and I'm bored, so I decide to see where this goes.

"Of course," I say, muffled through her fingers, without saying the actual words that ' _I'm sorry_.' I'm sneaky like that. She drops her hand, heaving a sigh.

"You could try to be a  _little_  sorrier." This makes me chuckle.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want my friend back," she challenges. Her eyes have a kind of expectant hopefulness that makes me know I am going to disappoint her again. "But… since that isn't going to happen, I want to help you."

"I don't need help-"

"Actually, you do. You are completely alone, and you aren't going to be able to actually deal with any of this if you're locked up in here like a hermit."

"Okay, that has less to do with me and more to do with a court order, which you are  _currently_  breaching, I might add."

"Oh  _yeah?_  What does the court order say  _exactly?"_  She folds her arms across her chest and I am not appreciating the attitude, little missy.

"That I'm not allowed to initiate conta-"

"You didn't initiate contact with me. I contacted you. Loophole." I'm still not sure, and I'm trying to decide if being bullied and berated by Samantha is better or worse than a jail sentence. "Do you even know what's been going on with your friends since that night?" Sam asks. Her voice is soft now, like she's trying to reach me on an emotional level. Joke's on her. I'm on 400 milligrams of Clozaril a day. I mean it when I say I feel nothing. I shrug and shake my head.

"I'm not sure  _friend_  is the best noun-"

"Everyone's  _really_  messed up, Josh. You need to make things right. If not for their sake, then at least for yours."

"Yeah, well, I'm one step ahead of you! My doctor is already making me write apology letters, so-" before I can stop myself, I accidentally gesture towards my messenger bag. Before I even get a chance to react, Sam is diving for it. "No! That's private, you can't read them!" I shout, and before I know it, Sam and I are in a full-on wrestling match on the floor. I grab ahold of her ankle and pull, sliding her back across the entryway tiles, but she hauls an elbow back and gets me in the eye before she tears into my bag with unforeseeable Hulk-like strength. I'm compromised, my vision blurred, instant headache. She doesn't even look sorry.

"What the  _fuck,_  Sam!" Not even a sideways glance in my direction as she opens my notebook. Her eyes scan the only page with writing (I suddenly feel so thankful that I ripped out that page about her goodies before).

" _Chris, I'm sorry that you were too chickenshit to-_ "  _Fuuuuuhck!_  I guess I didn't cross the words out well enough. She stumbles through my shitty handwriting as I reach for the book, her twisting her body just out of my reach. " _-make a move on Ashley (who's basically a 4/10 anyway) so I had to take matters into my own hands. You're welcome-_ " She gasps, slapping the book shut. "Joshua Washington, that is  _not_  an apology, that is  _mean!"_  she scolds, hauling back and punching me hard in the bicep with those boney, little fingers. It hurts like a Charlie horse – she is freakishly strong for that tiny stature.

I can't stop laughing, having heard it actually read aloud. So fucking mean.  _'What is the matter with me,'_  I ask myself for the second time in one day.

"It's not funny," she says, but she's trying to keep from laughing, herself, so I feel a little better. Before I can say anything to defend myself, my watch starts to beep. Sam glances down at the electric watch on my wrist. It's literally the least fashionable thing that ever existed. She raises an eyebrow as I silence it. She doesn't have to ask why my watch is going off, I just reach passed her into my bag and pull out my orange bottle of pills. She just nods to herself as I pop the top open and take one, dry.

"Gotta keep the crazies away. I get  _pretty_  ridiculous without my meds," I wink. She doesn't seem to think it's as funny as I do.

"You're ridiculous  _with_  your meds."

And just when I kinda wanna reflect on how good it feels to be in her presence, I hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.  _Shit_! It's my mom and she is going to freak out if she sees Sam here. I jump to my feet, grabbing her by that blasted elbow, and pulling her up. Reality came crashing the party, hard.

"You need to go.  _Now!"_

_"Fine,_  but this isn't over yet, Josh!"

"I can assure you, it is!" I jeer, dragging her butt to the back door through the kitchen. She looks partially amused, watching me panic like this. I rip open the glass sliding door and shove her outside. She hobbles on her feet a bit, but thankfully doesn't fall down the slippery, rain-slick wooden steps. I don't need yet another lawsuit. She turns towards me, shoving my notebook into my chest. She points her finger in my face, her eyes on fire.

"I  _will_  be back tomorrow, you  _will_  have something better written on that paper than the crap I just read," she orders. Once again I find myself trying to subdue a smirk. At this point, if I were to break a smile she'd probably break my nose, so that's good enough motivation for me.

"Josh?" I hear my mom call out for me. The panic sets in again. I would tell her I was the king of fucking Belgium to get her to leave.

_"Finefinefine,"_  I whisper, "Go!" I slam the door shut and she's still staring at me with burning intensity. I blow her a kiss. She's repulsed.

"TO-MOR-ROW!" she mouths, before popping her own hood on and turning to trudge through my back yard and presumably out to her car. Hopefully out of my life. But something tells me it's gonna take a lot to shake this stage-five-clinger.  _Downright ballsy, Sammy._  I can't help but smirk to myself as I watch her walk off. What a woman.

"Josh?" My mom enters the kitchen. I turn around quickly, looking guilty, but that's nothing new. She sighs in relief, clutching her heart dramatically, but still with sincerity. "You need to answer me when I –" she stops speaking, her eyebrows pulling together in concern as she nears me. I'm almost certain that I'm busted, but instead she reaches up to my eyebrow. I hiss in pain. "What happened?" she asks. I reach up and when I bring my hand down, I see a little bit of blood. Bitch broke the skin with her pointy-ass elbows.

"I…  _fell."_  My mother knows I'm lying, and for the first time all day, I feel slight remorse. I've caused her so much heartache, I hate to disappoint her. She swallows.

"Well…be more careful," she says in a tone I can only refer to as…well, motherly. She turns to leave, and I look down at my notebook. Apparently I have some homework to do. Now that I feel like my heart isn't in my throat, I take a deep breath and head up to my room. I toss the notebook on my bed before falling down onto it. I pull it up, opening to another blank page, but first I rip out the bad letter I began to Chris. No need for  _that_  to see the light of day again.

New Page. New Start.

_Chris_ , I etch across the top. I close my eyes, trying my damnedest to draw up some emotion within me. Suddenly, a flash of little league, sprinkled in with birthdays and sleepovers… he'd been my best friend since I was 9 years old, how could I forget that?  _I'm sorry that my actions cost us eleven years of friendship_ , I write. I stare down at the words, waiting for more to come to me.

_It doesn't._

I reckon that today has been eventful enough. I am exhausted and my pills are starting to kick in. Since music seems to be the only fun thing I'm allowed to indulge in, I pull my iPod out of my pocket and thumb through my playlist, trying to find something to match my current mood.

I settle on  _Falling away With You_  by  _Muse_ … and I reflect on how even though I might have ended up with a concussion, and I am pretty positive she  _sorta_  hates me, it was kinda nice to see my old friend, Sammy.

_So I'll love whatever you become, forget the reckless things we've done._

_I think our lives have just begun. I think our lives have just begun._

* * *

_To Be Continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming Up Next...  
> Chapter 3: Run  
> Sam enjoys putting Josh in the most uncomfortable/painful situations.  
> Josh is devastated over the loss of his breakfast burrito. (RIP BB)


	3. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Run  
> Sam enjoys putting Josh in the most uncomfortable/painful situations.  
> Josh is devastated over the loss of his breakfast burrito. (RIP BB)

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter Three:**

_Run_

_aka_

_Getting Maced in the Face Hurts More Than A Swift Kick to the Balls_

* * *

It's morning. My neck is stiff and I am still in my damp clothes from yesterday – I kinda smell like mildew. I am not even slightly surprised to see that I've passed out exactly where I'd fallen – on my bed, my face smashed against my opened Mead notebook. I glance down at the writing. It's smeared and I've kinda drooled through at least half of the book –  _definitely_  though Chris' letter. Yet another thing to apologize for, no doubt.  _Dear Chris, I promise that's just drool and not some other bodily fluid._

I groan. I feel as though I have a hangover, without the pleasure of being piss-ass drunk the night before.

I sit up and squint at my window, trying to look outside and get a clear indication of just how late I've slept, but the view that is usually my back yard is blocked out by a sign taped to the glass. No words, just a single arrow crudely drawn on a piece of construction paper. The arrow points down. I've awoken to the Da Vinci Code. I am in no mood for puzzles.

Not too much of a mystery, actually. I know instantly who left it. I start to reflect on the fact that my room is on the second floor... which means the culprit quite literally had to shimmy herself up a drain pipe to even put the sign up in my window. Maybe I'm not the only psychopath around here, these days...

I get up and open my window, pulling the sign off – no need for momsy and pops to see  _this._  I look down below into my yard, half expecting/hoping to see her down there, Romeo to my Juliet.   _Wherefore art thou, Leo DiCaprio?_

Nothing. Just a bush... _AND!_  A small package duct-taped to the siding of my house just below my window ledge. I reach down and get it, unwrapping an object in what appears to be three rolled plastic bags. When I unearth my treasure, I immediately feel a little worried yet strangely excited.

It's a cell phone.

Sam must desperately want to get me in trouble more than she's ever wanted anything in her entire life.

I see that I have three missed calls from "Sam". In my old phone, before I wasn't allowed to have it anymore, she was entered as Sam-Bam, but whatever. I try not to dwell too much on the fact that we have reverted to a pre-petname state. Before I even get a chance to call her back, it starts ringing loudly in my hand. I panic, almost dropping it like it's a loaded grenade before I shove is under the nearby pillow to muffle the incriminating sound. I'm not awake enough to react appropriately, which would be to simply silence the goddamn phone or answer it, but finally common sense returns to me and I do.

"Tossing pebbles at my window would have been way more romantic, but I kinda dig your style, Sammy," I ramble into the cheap Nokia. I didn't even know they still made these.

"I see you've gotten my package," Sam purrs on the other end. She's sounding more and more like a sexy bond villain every second. But I digress. That's not what I'm so focused on. I lean back out the window; I'm slightly paranoid that she's watching me from a tree nearby with binoculars, you know... like in most early 90's live-action Disney movies.

"Hey, did you climb my drain pipe-?"

"That's not important."

"-and where did you get this phone, 1999?" I ask as I pull it away from my head and inspect it. It reminds me of my first cellphone from when I was in eighth grade. She couldn't have sprung for an iPhone for her dear old pal, Josh?

"It's a throwaway phone." That makes me laugh out loud, actually. What a straight up  _gangster_  she's turning out to be. This is so badass I could cry. It's scary, sure, since I shouldn't have a phone and all, but at the same time it is hands-down the most interesting thing to happen to me in months.  _Bravo, Samantha_. You're making major headway in me not being mad at you anymore.

"Sam... you're climbing the side of my house in the middle of the night and sneaking me throwaway phones... be honest with me. Are you a super spy? I won't tell." I'm lying. I would turn her over to the authorities so fast it would make your head spin.

"You need to meet me at the park," she says. So demanding... and she didn't even ask how my morning was going. I decide to reward her snappiness with my typical, asshole self.

"Affirmative. Send me the coordinates via Morse code."

"I'm serious." She  _sounds_  serious. I don't even care in the slightest. This is fun.

"Hi Serious, I'm Josh." I chuckle to myself, and there's a long pause on the other end of the phone. It's so quiet that I am pretty sure I accidentally dropped the call. I'm feeling less cool now. " _Hello_?" I ask insecurely into the receiver.

"You're a moron," she says simply. I'm not offended. I AM a moron.

"Listen sweetheart, speaking of morons, I'm not sure how many times I need to explain a court order to you. I know you're blonde but-"

"Josh, I swear to God I will murder you if you finish that sentence."

"I see you're just as sweet as you were yesterday. Thanks for the black eye, by the way," I say as I plop back down on my bed. I'm feeling more and more comfortable with this situation as the moments go by.

"I truly mean this when I say, it's the  _least_  I could do."

"Sounds like you want a fight, Sam. I'm not gonna go easy on you." Who am I kidding. I'm 590% sure she could take me at this point.

"Park. 15 Minutes."

"Or you'll what?" I sneer, as if I have a choice.

"I'll tell your mom you have a throwaway phone and you are harassing me. I already called myself from that phone like 100 times last night alone. I'll just show her my missed call list." She's hardcore. Doesn't matter. I was going to go anyway. She knows where I live now, I'm no longer safe.

"Hm. Touché, Samantha.  _Toooouché."_

She ends the call without saying goodbye. How rude, once again. I would never be so rude to her. I figure I should get a move on, can't keep a lovely lady like Sam waiting...

….but I do anyway.

I arrive at the park fashionably late, and I see her seething under the tree on a park bench instantly.

"You're 20 minutes late!" she yells from her seat as I near her, taking another bite of my breakfast burrito.

"I don't negotiate with blackmailers," I mumble through a mouthful. I approach her, shoving the half eaten burrito in her face, fully aware that she's a strict vegan.  _Payback._ "Wanna bite?" I offer, trying my best to stop the egg and cheese from falling out of my mouth. Okay, not really trying  _that_  hard. Some falls down the front of my shirt and I bet I look super attractive to her.

She glares at what must be the most offensive burrito she's ever seen – like this burrito murdered her entire family and she's on a mission to avenge their deaths. She pushes it out of her face and stands up to face me, her hands on her hips again. Even as she stands, she barely comes up to my shoulder. Hard to see her as much of a threat when she's literally five-foot-nothin'. Then again, her elbow did pack a mean punch yesterday.

"I'm sorry you think this is a game, Josh, but it's  _not._ "

"Even crazy people need to eat, Sam!" I defend. She's glaring at me instead of the burrito now as she wipes a piece of egg from her cheek, and I squirm a bit under her death stare. As a friendly gesture, I offer her the burrito again, she grabs it out of my hand and tosses it in the garbage can beside us.  _"Wha!_  Samantha, I was  _eating_  that!" I yell, reaching in without a second thought and rescuing my fare. I have no qualms about eating out of garbage cans, she should know this about me by now. I take a huge mouthful and chew, slowly and deliberately.  _She thinks she can win? Look who's laughing now!_

Actually, it's her. Her face cracks into an involuntary smile, and before I know it she's punching me in the arm again. I realize that at this point, she owes  _me_  an apology letter for all of this abuse. Now she's staring above my eyes.

"Don't you shower?" she asks. Right. I left in kind of a hurry... didn't change out of my stinky clothes. I lift my arm and smell my armpit- is it really  _that_  bad? "Not that," Sam laughs and shakes her head, pulling a compact mirror from her bag. She opens it and turns it towards me, and I'm faced with my dashingly handsome mug staring back at me... with my own handwriting inked across my forehead.

_Smooth, Josh._

Yeah... I didn't even check a mirror before I left and Chris' note was now tattooed across my face like a scarlet letter. I bring my sleeve up and wipe it across my head, but it is unchanged. I shrug, taking another bite of my garbage burrito.

" _Whatever._ " Sam narrows her eyes and shakes her head in what can only be awe and admiration of what a rebellious soul I am. Er... or not. Who knows with this one.

"Is there anything you care about at  _all_?" she wonders aloud. I point to the burrito, and that seems to be enough. "We have plans today," she says, sitting back down on the bench, back to business. I literally have nothing better to do with my time, and something about the way Sam forces me into things must feed my subconscious desire to be dominated. I'm sure Dr. Pervert would have a fantastic time dissecting that one.

"What's the plan, captain?" I glance down at Sam, who's looking at her watch. She looks like she's waiting for something... or someone. I follow her gaze to the trail opening at the south end of the park, and I see a blonde jogger emerge from the dense trees nearby.

It's not just any blonde jogger though. I would recognize that butt anywhere.

It's Jessica.

" _Fuhhh_ ," I groan, feeling instantly sick to my stomach. I'm so distraught that I almost drop what's left of my burrito...  _almost._  "Nope. No. Nonono. Not happening, Samantha, you trickster."

"Something wrong, Josh?" Sam smiles innocently. I shoot her a glare; I should have known this was a trap. Jess is getting closer, so I find myself lurching out of her sight behind the tree beside us. That's not what Sam's has planned for me, it would seem. In a flash she's beside me, tugging at my hoodie. "Ohhh, no you don't. You're gonna talk to her. Better yet, you're gonna apologize," she says between grunts, trying to push be back out in the open.  _No thanks, Sam. I like my safe little perch behind the tree._

"I didn't even do anything to her!" I defend. I know that's a pretty weak argument, my mere invitation to the lodge four months ago resulted in the worst night of her life. Sam folds her arms.

"Well, if you didn't do anything wrong, why are you hiding?" …good point. Still, there's no way I'm doing this without a fight.

"Oh, and what exactly am I supposed to say to Big Booty J?" I say in a panic. She's almost reached us now. Sam is confused, her forehead creases as she tries to piece it together.

"Big Booty  _what_?" she looks utterly horrified at my sweet nickname. I smile, reach down and pinch her cheek.

"You're cute when you're jealous. I have nicknames for you too, Sammy, don't worry." She slaps my hand away, and without another warning, she uses that mini-freak strength to shove me out in front of Jessica, just in time to crash into her... pretty hard, by the way. Before she gets a chance to even see her 'assailant', she's pointing a black cylinder at me... and then I am on the ground, gasping and coughing and burning. The trigger-happy little Satan pepper sprayed me.

"Oh my God, Josh!" I hear Sam yell. I can distinctly hear the sound of her trying to subdue her laughter. What a little sadist. She  _loves_  this.

"What the fuck...  _Josh_!?" Jess yells.

This is it. This is how I die. Although...sandwiched between two blondes, I guess I can't complain. I'm rolling on the ground now, my lungs tight and my face feeling like it is literally on fire. … and yet I can't help but think about my burrito.  _RIP Breakfast Burrito. Gone too soon._

"What the hell is he doing out of the looney bin?" Jess asks, oh so sweetly.  _Aw, missed you too, BBJ_. I feel two sets of hands on me, both of them attempting to get me to my feet. My knees want to buckle, and I'm sure I look really cool getting dragged across the park by two lovely ladies that are half my size. Probably looks like a real Weekend at Bernie's.

One of them is pushing my face down, now, and I begin to feel the relief of cold water in my face from a drinking fountain. However, it was unexpected, so I, of course, manage to choke on the water, just adding to my inability to breathe.

"Josh... just... hold still," Sam orders through the struggle. I'm not trying to make it hard on her, I'm trying not to die.

It takes a long time. A loooooong time. I wonder how many people have walked by to see my attempted drowning via park water fountain and didn't bother to intervene, but then again, they must think I deserve it. According to my friends Sam and Jess, I probably do.

After at least 10 minutes of straight rinsing, the searing pain and relentless stinging is still there, but it's lessened. I can feel that my face is swollen and I can hardly see through my blurred vision. At some point, Jess had left and came back with a cold pack to put on my face, a gesture much kinder than what I'm sure she thought I deserved. It had been Sam's idea, though. I'm having a hard time deciding if Sam is on my side or my greatest nemesis.

"What the hell were you trying to do?" Jess finally asks as they usher me back to the park bench. My whole face is still stinging. I press the cold pack to my eyes.

"Sam was making me apologize!"

"...by hurling yourself into me?" Jess asked, her eyebrow raised. Sam held up a hand, kinda sheepishly.

"That was... kinda my fault." At least she can admit it. "Sorry." Jess seems unmoved by this declaration, and I feel no more 'off the hook' than I was a moment ago.

"Whatever. I guess I've been pretty pissed at you for the sake of everyone else. I mean, what you did was super shitty, Josh. And I don't want to be around you because now I know what you're capable of but...you didn't really do anything... to  _me_ , anyway," Jess says, waving a cavalier hand in my direction. She's not even mad at me. I just got maced in the face for nothing. I am going to kill Sam.

"That's what I said!" I exclaim, exasperatedly. But then, Jess starts to think about it, which is a very scary thing... Jess thinkin' and all. I hope she doesn't hurt herself.

" _Well, then again..._ " she retracts, chewing on her words a bit before she spits them out. I have no idea where she's going with this. I'm just along for the ride. "It's just... even having us up there landed me in the mines and all. And that was probably the worst thing to ever happen to me in my entire life... I guess I could blame you for  _that._  Since now I have to check my closet and under my bed for monsters before I go to sleep." I don't say anything, I'm just letting her work through her thoughts aloud. "Plus therapy..." she adds. I guess I do have reason to be sorry to Jess.

"I'm sorry for inviting you up to the lodge," I say very flatly. I glance at Sam. She's unimpressed, but at least I said it at all. Jess folds her arms over her chest, giving me a shrug and a bit of a smile, even.

"I just try not to think about it all, really. It's confusing and I get angry and I don't need frown lines, okay?" Cool. So, Jess and I had both decided our coping method would border on psychotic denial."What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that I forgive you." I raise my eyebrows in surprise. That was way too easy.

"You...  _do_?" She pops up onto her feet, bubbly as ever.

"Sure," she chuckles, as though she doesn't even believe it herself. "Why not. Plus, I mean, I did mace you in the face. It looks like it really hurts so... I guess we can call it even," she offers me her hand to shake. I'm overcome with a desire to hug her, but I take her hand instead.  _Baby steps, Josh._

I look over at Sam; she's smiling bigger now, as though her lil baby boy was all grown up and she only had herself to thank. I try not to let it irk me... it's easier than I expected. She's just so proud.

Jess looks down at her phone, getting the time.

"Shit. I gotta run," she says, ending our cozy little threesome. She waves bye, and although it's still a little awkward, it's much better than hiding-behind-trees-to-avoid-seeing-her awkward. "Oh, by the way," Jess says, turning around as she leaves. "I can assure you, not everyone else is not going to be so easily swayed," she warns cryptically. She bounds off away from us, and I try not to look at her butt in the yoga pants. But I am a man. So I do anyway.

"Sorry I got you maced. But that's one down, right? I'm almost sure that one will be the most physically painful one you're gonna have to endure." With Sam's constant commitment to getting me hurt in one way or another, I have a hard time believing her.

"Am I dismissed for the day? I need a shower and a new burrito." Sam chuckles, her hand resting on my back, caringly. It feels nice to be touched.

"You're dismissed. Go home and take a shower, why don't you." She's staring at my forehead again. I'd forgotten.

"It's  _still_  there?" she nods. What the hell kind of pens were those, anyway?

"C'mon. I'll walk you home," she offers. I am reluctant, until she adds "I'll even buy you a new disgusting burrito. You earned it." _Damnit, temptress You win this time._  I have to accept.

I get home and narrowly avoid being seen by my mom – if she saw my face she'd definitely know I've been up to no good. You know, the kinda stuff I'm still legally bound to be avoiding.

It's still pretty early in the day, but that whole experience has definitely left me exhausted. I plop down on my bed again, and pick up my notebook where I left off. I turn from Chris' page and onto a new one, jotting  _Jess_  across the top.

I look down at my iPod, and I don't even have to pick a song to set the mood. The first one to play when I hit shuffle is Run by Collective Soul.

_Dear Jess, I'm sorry that my actions inadvertently affected you in such an awful way. I was trying to avenge my sisters, and it got a little out of hand. Thank you for forgiving me._

Short and sweet, but much easier to write than Chris and Sam's. I chew on the end of my pen as I reflect on everything that just happened. I can't help but feel a little bit of reluctant gratitude towards Sam for forcing me into this. My conscience feels one angry soul lighter.

My secret spy phone buzzes. I look down.

 **Sam:**  Good job today. I'll disclose tomorrow's mission at 0700.

I smirk to myself. I am starting to believe that I might not ever be able to tell her no. She is blackmailing me, afterall. But I gotta say... I don't totally mind it. Let's just say, she had to match my crazy to be able to combat it.  _Clever girl, this one._

 **Me:**  Affirmative. I'll be standing by for further instructions.

 **Sam:**  :)

 _Now as the hours passing_  
There's nothing left here to insure  
I long to find a messenger  
Have I got a long way to run

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next...  
> I HAVE NO IDEA BECAUSE I HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK!! HALP!


	4. Everlong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had scary awful writer's block at first with this one. I definitely don't want to fall into a predictable pattern, and I have such high expectations for this fic. Sooo…. I went on youtube and found creativity hypnosis music and played it and…. This happened. Sorry? Either way, this chapter was brought to you today by maaaaagic. Special thanks to my amazing friend, Enula, who quality checked at least the first part of this to make sure it wasn't pure crap before I placed it in front of y'all. I have a natural instinct to wanna veer off into the drama. There WILL be some drama, but I'm trying to stay as true to this version of Josh as possible. He's like the honeybadger. He don't give a shit.
> 
> I WAS trying to make these chapters short but... yeah. Here's 12 pages of slop.

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

_Everlong_

_aka_

_That One Time I Was Forced To Buy An Ugly Bag For $350.00_

* * *

_Someone's knocking at my bedroom door._

This is especially odd, considering ever since I _kinda sorta_ racked up a $27,000 bill on my parent's credit card buying various raw materials to torment my friends with, my mom stopped knocking. She said I 'lost my right to privacy' after that. I'm not sure how she correlates the two, but I would figure that after the 3rd or 103rd time of both of us pretending like she _didn't_ just catch me masturbating, it would prompt her to decide to renege on her knocking policy.

The worst part about being psychologically unbalanced (other than the part of you that justifies doing things deemed _bad_ in popular culture) is that you will think you're making amazing progress one day, and the next you've shut your blinds and are hiding under your blankets like a physically abused shut-in. This is why therapists like Dr. Finke are wealthy, even though his shitty tweed jacket would suggest otherwise. But I digress.

More importantly, what in the actual _fuck_ happened to my psyche between now and less than 12 hours ago? All I know is everything seemed great, I'd gone to bed with my cute li'l smiley face text from Sam (her love for me is becoming increasingly apparent. I bet it's because she got to see me drool, snot, and cry all over myself when I got pepper sprayed yesterday. I think Oprah would call that _intimacy_ ).

And then… _BOOM_! I wake up at 3 am in a complete, sweaty panic that renders me practically immobile.

I just don't get it. I was fine the night before; almost happy, even. I was able to write my apology to Jess (which will probably elicit some kind of Gold Star reward with Dr. Finke – although I definitely need to omit anything about her big booty… because he's still a total perv). I also let her physically assault me, which should have definitely been therapeutic to her, at the _very_ least. I did my good deeds!

Plus... although each time ends up in some kind of injury, I've even been spending some time with dear ol' Sammy... who did I mention is _totally_ in love with me? Poor girl. I'm gonna have to let her down easy, or at least find a way to be less irresistible to her. I tend to like my girls with a little more cleavage and a little less self-esteem.

So, all things considered, I should feel _great._

…but _nooooo._ No, no, no. Not me. I don't get to be a normal fucking human being. My asshole brain decides to randomly go all haywire and make me incapable of leaving my bed because I have some irrational and invisible fear of monsters or demons or whatever the fuck decides to plague me.

I look down at my phone (the super spy phone, not the 6-year-kid phone). There's three missed calls and six text messages, all from my greatest admirer, no doubt. I had every intention of being bright eyed and bushy tailed for whatever horrific, painful mission Sam had in store for me today, but my girlfriend, Anxiety, decided to move into my brain sometime last night and she doesn't let me do anything. _She's such a controlling bitch._ But I can't leave her. Believe me, I've tried.

I reread the last text.

 **Sam:** That's it. I'm coming over.

I groan. That was exactly what I expected her to say. Damn Samantha and her plucky, go-getting attitude.

Then I realize that text was from half an hour ago… and there's another knock.

"You'd better not be naked in there, because I'm coming in!" I hear Sam's unmistakable voice call, muffled through the door. Look at her, pretending like she doesn't wanna see me naked. _So precious._

My head falls onto my pillow in pure exhaustion – I have no desire to deal with this right now. I cover my face with the blanket and pray to dissolve into my mattress.

Even still, she barges right in (as she usually does), guns blazing. Not really ( _THAT_ would be kinda cool though, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she did. She's practically a super spy). I peek out from my dark blue comforter and she comes into view; She's got her hands on her hips and glares down at me disapprovingly. This is becoming a theme with her – overstepping boundaries and gazing at me with disapproval, I mean.

"Oh, _hellooo_ , Sammy. Lovely morning we're having, isn't it?"She doesn't think it's as cute or charming as I'd hoped. She's pissed. I sit up, propping myself up with an elbow, casually. My body still feels sore from the abuse from yesterday.

"What the _hell_ , Josh! I texted you at 7 like I said I was-"

"Sam, sweetie, I mean well when I ask this but… do you actually _have_ a life of your own or are you just going to spend the rest of it torturing _me_?" She actually looks kinda hurt by the comment, which is strange considering everything else I've dished out she's been able to throw back at me and then some. Maybe she's on her period or something.

But... that's not my biggest concern right now. Sam's been upset at me before, and if I am being completely honest, she'll probably be upset with me a million more times in this lifetime. What concerns me, at this moment, is that she is IN MY FUCKING HOUSE. PROBABLY #1 ON THE LIST OF FUN THINGS I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DO... right behind harboring sharp objects or ordering saws with dad's credit card again.

She must see my mind racing.

"Ugh, relax with yourself," she breathes, and it looks like she takes her own advice as she plops down on the end of my bed. She hands me a piece of paper. "Your eyes go all buggy when you're freaking out. They aren't _home_ – I checked." She's, of course, referring to my parents. I look down at the paper in my hand.

_Joshua,_

_Went to a conference, didn't want to wake you. Be back tomorrow morning._

_Love, Mom & Dad_

It's my mom's handwriting – dad doesn't love me anymore, remember? I look down at the bottom of the page.

_P.S._

_BE GOOD! ! ! ! !_

_Wooooweeee!_ Five exclamation points. She must really mean it. No Molotov cocktails or drive-by shootings for me, I guess. _Aw, shucks. Moms always take the fun out of everything._

I raise an eyebrow and peer over at Sam, who's made herself comfortable. I gotta say, my room looks pretty good with her in it.

 _Wait? What? Shut up, scumbag brain. You're a psychopath. It'll be a cold day in Hell when Sam shows interested beyond pity in you_... but ohhh no. That doesn't stop me.

"I mean... I always knew that eventually you'd end up in my bed but I never imagined it would be like this..." YUP. My stupid mouth blurts that shit out before I even get a chance to stop it; it's like watching a car crash in slow motion. I don't get to finish my innuendo, though. She's already rolling her eyes.

"Oh, shut up, Josh." _Bang Bang. Shot down._ I move awkwardly to the next elephant in the room.

"So, you normally just let yourself into people's houses?" I ask through a stretch. "Breaking and entering, Samantha! Believe me, you don't want a rap sheet. It's hard in the clink-"

"Well, first of all, I think you forgot that I know where the hideaway key is. I was best friends with your sisters for 8 years, remember?" After she says it, it kinda seems like she regrets it. But she doesn't let it linger too long.

"Was there a second of all?" I'm genuinely curious. She just shrugs a casual shoulder and fidgets with the fraying end of my blanket. I stare down at the note again. This is the first time my parents have trusted me to be alone overnight since everything went down. "So, no parental units for 24 hours. Maybe we should…. Ya know... Throw a party."

"Oh, I'm sure that'd be a _great_ idea."

"We can invite all _both_ of my friends," I gasp, tossing the note away from me.

"Yeah, you, me and Jess. Sounds like a _real_ blast." I'm picking up on a hint of sarcasm. Who knows? I read a lot of 'Dear Penthouse' articles that started exactly that way. I certainly wouldn't mind being sandwiched between two blondies again... without the mace this time, though.

"Oh, _c'mon_ , Sam. Don't be such a stick in the mud. A party would be fun! The last one I threw was a real _killer_ ," I wink. Sam's not impressed. She usually isn't. What can I say? I'm not really an impressive guy.

"Can I ask why you're still in bed?" she asks. I pat the empty space next to me with my hand.

"Waitin' for you." _No, God. Why, mouth, why?_ "If we aren't gonna have a party, perhaps you 'n I can have a sleepover?"

"Be serious! Are you alright?" I sigh, my head hitting the pillow again. I _was_ kinda serious. "I gotta admit, you had me a little worried." I don't want to answer her, mostly because admitting to my irrational fear of invisible ailments is not very cool or manly or tough, and I'd like to at least give off the slightest illusion that I'm not a total and complete fuck up… which I am.

"I can't get out of bed," I mumble.

" _Why_?"

"I dunno. I just can't."

"Did you take your pills today?"

"I don't have to take them til-" I glance down at my watch (the super flashy cool watch that is totally stylish and not at all cheap). It says nothing back to me. It takes far too long with me gazing at it for me to realize that it's busted. I look up at Sam and gasp, my mouth agape. She just shrugs at me, giving me a face that can only read "what's your problem?" Maybe not... but I can't help but feel paranoid. "You broke it!" I accuse indignantly. She snorts.

" _Excuse_ me?" She crosses her arms across her chest at raises her eyebrows at me. "And how do you suppose I did that?"

" _Yesterday_? When you let me get mauled in the park by Jess? It must have broke then!" Her patience for me is thinning, I can tell by the hard line of her lips.

"Whatever, Josh. We have somewhere we need to get to. I'll buy you another cheap watch." She doesn't seem to grasp the severity of the situation. My watch never went off yesterday, which means I never took my meds yesterday. That would be why I'm so anxious today. I leap from my bed and get into my bag. I missed a dose, so I assume the most logical thing would be to take two, right?

 _Wrong._ And now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure my doctor told me not to do something like that...like... _ever._

"I like your apology letter to Jess," she says from my bed. She's picked up my notebook and she's thumbing through it. I near her quickly and swipe it out of her hands.

"Not your business, _right_ Sammy?" I mutter.

"I wonder what you're gonna write in mine..." she muses aloud. I scoff.

"I'd say that me allowing you to torture me slowly, one situation at a time, has left us pretty square, wouldn't you say?" I ask, popping off my shirt and switching for a clean one. Sam tries not to watch me change... must be hard for her.

"Whatever you say, Joshua," she murmurs.

Sam's pretty adamant about getting on with our plans, and other than the slight panic she's already seen in me, I try my best to at least appear like I'm keeping my shit together. Inside, I'm freaking out a little bit, especially as I feel the pills start to hit me. It comes on hard and fast. ( _That's what she said._ )

Sam finally coaxes me from the house and towards her car, but by the time I make it out the front door, my head is swimming. I guess it's better than hallucinating or feeling crippled by unending anxiety, but still, now I'm kinda slurring and stumbling a bit and it's not a pretty picture.

We get in, I buckle up... and it takes me .001 seconds to realize that Sam's a shitty, _shitty_ driver. Like, _Mario Kart_ bad – you know... the rainbow road level?

Once we'd barely made it a few blocks away, she has already narrowly hit two pedestrians and merged into another lane while an old Buick was in her blind spot. If I wasn't so doped up, I would have been terrified. But due to the excess of medication swirling around in my stomach, I kinda just feel like I'm on a roller coaster. Instead I just clutch my door handle and pray that we make it in one piece. I didn't survive a night on the mountain and nearly being ripped apart by monsters just to be killed by Samantha's poor driving skills. _Seriously, who gave this girl a license?_

Sam pulls into a department store parking lot. I leer out the window- I hate malls. I hate crowds. I hate shopping. If I had the mental capacity to whine at her about this, I would. But again, my overdosing of Klonopin has me trapped inside my own head, unable to fight back... although at this point I'm not sure I even could anymore.

We get out of the car and walk towards the doors of the store; I find myself leaning on her far too often. I still feel on edge. Like everyone is looking at me.

" _Dude_ , stand up straight," she instructs under her breath. The fact that she's noticing my odd behavior is just making me even more nervous. "Why are you so quiet? Usually I can't get you to shut up," she asks. Well, the true answer is because every time I open my mouth I sound drunk. I give her a silent shrug as the answer instead. To say that I am just along for the ride at this point is an understatement – I am totally and 100% at her disposal. I don't even have any idea what we're doing here.

We walk in. Let me tell you what, mannequins are fucking _scary_. Maybe I'm having some kind of PTSD, but their long white limbs and faceless features are making my head spin, along with everyone's eyes on me. I grab onto Sam's arm by default. She's gonna have to protect me, and I'm not even sure from what. She looks down at my hand clutched onto her arm, then up at my face.

"Are you alright?"

"Let's just get what we need and get out of here," I mumble, my eyes on everything around us except her. She picks up her pace – I wonder if she can tell I'm losing it a bit.

We are in the women's department around a bunch of purses. They all look the same, but I'm no expert on these things. She beelines towards one particular bag – it's pretty hideous. Looks like something my grandmother would tote around and fill with partially-used Kleenex and sugar packets she swiped from a restaurant. Oh. And old, half-melted chocolates.

"So ugly," I whisper. Sam's eyes snap back up at my face and lets out a little giggle.

"I know. Do you have your credit card?" she asks.

" _What_?"

"We need to buy this bag. It's for today's mission." I mull on that a bit, chewing on the inside of my cheek, hesitantly. I mean... even though I _kinda_ abused the Washington bank account privilege a smidge... _yeah._ I do. Mom let me keep my credit card for emergencies. (She is such a sweet li'l enabler. Gotta love Melinda.) Even still, there's no good enough reason on this earth to buy such an ugly bag.

"Josh, c'mon. There's someone who _really_ wants this bag. She's been posting it all over Facebook and I think it would go a long way with her if you were to give it to her as a peace offering." I glance back down at the bag. There's only one person in the world with such atrocious, expensive fashion sense.

_Emily._

"No, no, no. I'm not ready for Emily! She's tha devil!" I refuse, backing away from the bag like it's a weapon on mass destruction. She thinks being pepper sprayed was bad? I can only imagine the horrific things Emily's planned on doing to me. She has no sense of mercy, whatsoever. "One time when she was over for a sleepover with Beth, I accidentally spilled some soda on her and she punched me in the throat. Not the chest, not the face, the fucking windpipe, Sam!" It put me on the ground. "Plus, I have it on good authority that Magic Mike was so scared of dumping her for Jess, not only did he take three months to get up the nerve, but he waited til she was in Aspen with family and did it through text message!"

" _Yeeesh._.." she groaned. "No wonder she was so bent out of shape..." Sam muses. She shakes it off, shoving the purse back at my chest. "Josh, still, don't you think getting her this is gonna soften the blow a bit?" I glance down, taking it in my hands like it might explode... then my eyes catch the sales tag. I start to laugh, right in Sam's face.

"Uh, not for $350, I don't think so." I hand her the bag back and start to walk off. Do whatever you want to my body, but I am not gonna waste a cent on that disaster of a bag.

"Do I have to remind you that I'm blackmailing you?" she calls out after me. I groan and turn back.

"Sam, this is stupid."

"Look, I'm just trying to help you. We are going to see Emily today, with or without the bag. But I would highly suggest you have the bag..." she sings, shaking the bag in the air.

" _Fiiiine_ ," I grumble as images of Emily ripping me from limb to limb dance in my head. I swipe the bag from Sam's hands, and she smiles a little too smugly for my liking. "But I swear to God if she starts throwing punches I'm using your delicate little body as a human shield!" Sam raises her hands.

"Scout's honor," she promises. I am holding her to that. We promptly pay for the purse before I can change my mind and Sam drives to my impending doom that is Emily.

By the time we get to her apartments, my head is starting to clear up a bit, but it's still foggy. I'm actually a little relieved that I took a double dose, considering the fact that out of all the people Sam was making me face today, it was the most bitter and scary of them all – or at least her reputation would have you believe.

It's not like Emily and I were ever close in the first place – she had that unnecessary bitchiness that she wore like a badge of honor, as if it were something to be proud of. At the same time, at least everyone _knew_ she was bitchy. And maybe, just maybe, it was all a front. Maybe Em has a sweet, vulnerable side to her _that she'd yet to sho-_

"What the fuck is _he_ doing here?" she asks after she swings the door open and looks me up and down like I was some homeless crackhead on the street.

 _Nope._ No, I'm pretty sure she might just be a horrible bitch. I stare at her face uncomfortably as she stands in the doorway of her luxury apartment. She's got her arms crossed over her chest and her hip out, her stature is pure sass... this is nothing I've never seen before. But the look of pure disgust on her face is new. I've never been looked at quite like _that_ before...by anyone. And although (like Jess) I guess I didn't really do anything specifically to _Emily_ that night, she is definitely and clearly still holding a grudge.

As I look at her, feeling inferior in her mere presence, I realize that one of my biggest regrets of that night, actually, is that I _didn't_ do anything to Emily. Shoulda probably sawed _her_ in half... but I don't think I'd be out in the general public if I had.

"He came to tell you something," Sam offers as I stand there, closemouthed like a buffoon. In all my fantasizing about bisecting Emily at the abdomen, I realize I am just standing there motionlessly, staring at her like a creep. Her eyes trail down to the grossly expensive bag in my hands. I lick my lips nervously, my eyes flitting to Sam for guidance, then back to Emily. What is it about her face that makes me _literally_ want to shit myself? This bitch is _terrifying._ I'd take a wendigo over her just about any day.

"Well? _What?"_ she snaps. I shove the purse into her. Bad move. You probably shouldn't shove the person you're trying to apologize to. She's pushed back a bit at my force with an audible ' _oomph!'_ , and I can only chalk my actions up to my own nerves or stupidity. Or both.

_Usually both._

"I'm sorry for everything I did on the mountain," I blurt, my words running together. She scoffs, glancing over at Sam. I know what she's thinking. _Are you serious with this shit, Sam?_ Sam just gives her an embarrassed, apologetic look... you know... the way _I_ should be looking at Emily. Instead, I probably look just bug-eyed, fidgety and insane. Like the crazy person she now knows me to be. I'm not doing myself any favors, here.

"I don't need your apology," she sneers. She takes a step towards me, jabbing me in the shoulder. "I don't need an apology because I don't even think about you. In fact, Joshua, I care so little about you, that to apologize to me would be pointless because I would have to care that you're sorry – which I don't." I try to follow her words, and although they make very little sense, I actually kinda get it. Emily and I were never friends in the first place. We would probably never be friends. She always just thought I was the weird older brother of her friend Beth (she was never too close to Hannah, either).

Even still, I found it odd that deep down, I _was_ kinda sorry. However, I didn't need Em's forgiveness, because there was nothing to repair with her. She eyes the bag up and down before she snatches it out of my hands anyway. She's moved on to more important things.

" _Hmm._.. and I half expected this to be a knock-off," she says under her breath after examining it a bit. Her eyes come back up to us and she offers up a tight-lipped smile. "Are we done here?" she asks. Sam just kinda shrugs at me; I guess that for the first time since she's taken over my life, Sam's letting me have a choice in the matter.

"So, we're... _cool..._ then?" I ask awkwardly, gesturing in the open space between us with my hand. She just rolls her eyes.

"Go fuck yourself, Josh," she growls before slamming the door shut. I turn to Sam, and I would be fuming if I wasn't so relieved that _that_ experience was over with no injuries to count. Not quite as painful as the pepper spray, but still not great.

"I spent $350 on that?" Sam chuckles and rubs my back comfortingly.

"I think this is the closest that you and Em will ever be," she shrugs. I turn towards Sam, a wry smile crossing my lips.

"You know what, Sam?"

"What?"

"I think she _likes_ me," I tease. She just laughs and walks back down the hallway. I chase after her. "No really, Sam! She's just shy, she doesn't know how to say it. Did you see the way she looked at me? All that burning intensity?"

"I think many would call that _hatred_ , Josh," she quips as she presses the elevator button.

"Say what you will. I think I have a shot." Sam just chuckles.

"C'mon, Cassanova. It's been a long day; I'll take you home."

After yet another terrifying ride with Sam, we pulled up to my house, just as Everlong by the FooFighters starts playing on the radio. Acoustic version. I sigh inwardly; there are very few perfect songs in this world, but this is one of them. I lean my head back on the headrest and glance sideways at Sam.

"I...I'm sorry Sam. I can't leave yet. I can't leave in the middle of Everlong. It's like a law or something." She snickers a bit, nodding.

"It's definitely on my top 10 list," she says quietly.

" _Top 10?"_ I'm disgusted. "More like Top 5, Samantha. _Get real_." We listen to the song for a bit, and I realize that it's not just the song. I don't want to get out of Sam's car – even if it's proven to be a deathtrap. I will probably die in this car, I've already accepted that fate. "I wish Kurt Cobain woulda waited to kill himself. You know, so I coulda seen Nirvana live..." I mumble to myself. Sam turns toward me, her forehead furrowed.

"Well... like... if you can wish that, wouldn't you just wish that he _didn't_ kill himself?" she asks, trying not to laugh. That's an excellent point. But...

"Well, then we never woulda had the FooFighters, Sammy. Silly question..."

"You're ridiculous," she chuckles, turning back in her seat and leaning her head back on the headrest as well. She looks lovely in the twilight. You know... for Sam, at least.

" _Gotta promise not to stop when I say when_ ," Sam sings quietly to herself. I feel a smile tugging at the corner of my lips and for the very first time since she's popped back into my life, I find myself stupidly and sincerely thankful for her. She turns towards me and our eyes meet awkwardly. She reaches into her coat pocket. "I got you this, by the way," she says, handing me a small box. Another secret spy gift, no doubt. I open it to see a cheap, even uglier watch than my first. It's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and it must have cost her all of five bucks in the kids section. "So you can remember to take your pills and... you know. Look _cool_ while doin' it," she teases.

I have to say, I am feeling super stoic at this point and _not_ at all choked up over the fact that no one, and I mean NO one, has done anything remotely this kind for me in a long time and I am a man so I am definitely not tearing up over a stupid, five-dollar Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle kid's watch.

I pull it out of the wrapping and promptly put it on my wrist, and although it's a bit snug, I will probably never take it off again.

"It's even waterproof," she adds, as though I needed any more reasons to love it. "And the alarm is the TMNT theme song..."

"Sam, you don't have to _sell_ me the watch. It's great. Just what I needed. Very masculine and sophisticated. I'm gonna be the envy of every classy man on the block." I nudge her, and whisper a quiet thanks. I feel like we might be having a moment, so I have to ruin it immediately, of course. "You can come in... you know.. if you want." I tried to say it in a way that sounds effortless and smooth. It comes out weird and creepy. She sighs at me, then puts on that smile I hate; it reeks of sympathy.

"I mean I would...but I can't. I have to go."

"Hot date?" I chuckle. Her eyes widen, she has a look on her face that almost seems guilty. I'm kinda sorry I asked.

" _Yeah_ , actually. How'd you know that?" she asks, tilting her head. "You actually might know him..."

"Oh yeah? Who is this guy? Do you think I could take him?"

"Daryl." I scan my memory bank and it comes back with nothing... I don't know a Daryl. But for some reason, I hate the guy already. It sounds familiar, actually. I glance back at her, but her smile has changed. It's menacing, and I am having a hard time figuring out why. She starts to laugh, a snort.

"What is so funny?" I ask.

"It's _Sunday._ Walking Dead, Daryl Dixon? _Hello_?" Well, I am kinda mortified inside. But I don't let it show on my face... at least I don't think I do.

"I knew it sounded familiar," I murmur. She gasps, twisting in her seat towards me and jabbing me in the shoulder with that boney-ass finger again. She's so aggressive!

"You were _so_ jealous!"

"I waaaaas _not_!" I defend, but I can't help but notice that... _yeah. I kinda was._ I unclick my seat belt and turn towards her. "I don't mind sharing you with him, Sam. You really gonna pass up my sleepover offer? I'll let you be the big spoon," I assure. She smirks a toothless grin and rolls her eyes. ' _Oh, you,_ ' it seems to say. I decide right then and there that I am never gonna stop asking.

"Get some rest. You have therapy tomorrow, right?" she asks. "I'm sure your doctor will be glad to hear about your progress." I raise my eyebrows.

"Oh, memorizing my therapy schedule? Sam, you really are a stalker." She ignores my joke. I figure since 110% of everything that leaves my mouth is a joke, she kinda has to.

"And maybe we could... tackle Chris soon?" she asks. The idea makes my stomach drop and I feel my nerves growing at the mention of his name. I shake my head, at a loss of any other way to say it. "Or not, you know. If you're not ready," she retracts.

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," I say in a rare moment of seriousness. She just nods, smiling comfortingly.

"Get inside. Go write your apology letter to Em," she orders. I simply give her a salute before I slam the car door, heading back inside. She peels out, and I kinda worry she isn't going to make it home alive.

The house is so quiet. It's usually quiet these days, but it's a different kinda quiet now. I do as Sam instructed before I forget, grabbing my notebook and opening up to a fresh page.

 _Dear Emily_ , I scrawl. I reach over and turn on my iPod. Everlong. Again. It might have made it into my Top 3 favorite songs tonight instead of Top 5.

_I'm sorry for everything I did on the mountain, even if you don't accept or want my apology. I'm also sorry that I regretted not cutting you in half. I guess we're just gonna have to go on loathing each other – which to me seems like a mutual understanding, and means we are no worse than we were before the incident._

_I'm also sorry I spent $350.00 on an ugly bag today. But, in a way, you wearing it out in public and people seeing it on you is some kind of weird karma, so I guess we're even._

It's not _too_ serious, but it is sincere, and something inside of me feels like Emily would appreciate this apology... or at least understand.

My eyelids feel heavy, as they do most of the time, and I decide the best thing to do is sleep off the last of the fogginess of my double-dose today. I fall asleep kinda wishing that Sam would have taken me up on my offer to be the big spoon, but as I glance down at my TMNT watch I realize that I've gotten way more from her than I deserve already.

_And I wonder when I sing along with you if everything could ever feel this real forever_

_If anything could ever be this good again. The only thing I'll ever ask of you_

_You gotta promise not to stop when I say when._

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	5. Wonderwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5:  
> Sam promises Josh a fun day... but her idea of fun is not Josh's idea of fun.

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

 

* * *

**Chapter Five:**

Wonderwall

aka

_Hello, My Name Is Josh and I Am NOT An Alcoholic But After Today I Might Consider It_

* * *

 

            As I sit across from him in his freezing office, I am having a mental war within myself over just how much of the last few days’ activities to disclose to Dr. Finke. Between the black eye, the pepper spray and the overdose, I feel like I have a lot to be proud of… He may not agree. 

 

My court order would definitely  _ not _ agree.

         

  We are nearing the end of the session, we've talked about a lot. We talk about my feelings towards my dad (wherever he is, I haven't actually seen him in what feels like weeks), my mom (Melinda is a saint), and my sisters (RIP).  We didn't talk about masturbation this time, so I'm relieved, although he did ask me if I have been harboring feelings for Sam, since I've mentioned her a few times... in past tense, of course. Can't really tell him she's hijacked my life.

But not my letters. 

So I just sit here, clutching my notebook as though it were some ancient, important document and not a few lukewarm sentiments scribbled onto some (partially drooled on) paper. I'm waiting for him to ask me about it.

 

            But he doesn’t give a shit about my notebook.

           

            “Joshua, did you get into an altercation?” he asks.  _Damn._  I was hoping I would make it through this without him noticing my almost-healed black eye and small cut on my eyebrow, courtesy of Sam’s pointy elbows three days ago. I thought _maybe_ I could get away with it; Dr. Finke isn’t necessarily the most perceptive of people. For example, my visits have recently consisted of me wearing more and more layers of clothing just to keep warm, and he still hasn’t gotten the hint to turn on the fucking heat.

I’d considered trying to cover up my black eye with mom’s makeup, even sneaked up into her bathroom to harbor her beauty products like a closeted, experimental transvestite. But, believe it or not, she doesn’t seem to have the same golden-God-like complexion that I was blessed with.  _Thanks, daddy._ I muse to myself that it's too bad _he's_ not a closeted, experimental transvestite. At least I'd have the right shade of makeup...although I'm not sure if that would cause more problems than solutions in my life.

Instead, I decided it was a good idea to conceal my shame behind a pair of Ray-Bans. I realize only now that this plan wasn’t exactly thought all the way through, and if I didn’t want to draw attention to my eyes, I probably shouldn’t be wearing my sunglasses _inside._

I sigh. This is one of the many reasons why I have come to depend on Samantha. She does all my thinking _for_ me. She’s the brains and the beauty and … I guess I'm just the goofy, comic relief (although she tells me frequently that I’m not funny, either).

 

            “I… _fell._ ” It wasn’t even remotely persuasive; it wasn’t convincing to my mom three days ago and it’s certainly not convincing to my shrink - who is specifically trained in the art of picking up on bullshit. Dr. Finke clears his throat and leans forward on his desk a bit. It would appear his bullshit radar is going off the charts.

 

            “I need you to be honest here, Joshua. This is a safe place,” he assures. I fight the urge to scoff – it’s hard. There is nothing comforting about this office or his demeanor... and to be honest I'm a little offended that he _still_ hasn't asked me about my notebook. It was his stupid idea for me to write these letters, but all he can focus on is the possibility that I've been doing fun things that I shouldn't be... which I have. 

 

“Dr. Finke, I fell. That's all. It's fine. Can we talk about my letters now?” I ask, just trying to get on with it. Luckily he can't see me glance at the clock with my sunglasses on – if he did, he'd surely ask me some asinine question like last time:  _ somewhere you need to be, Josh? _

Only this time, I did. Sam was picking me up today. 

 

Finke jots something down on his notebook and leans back, his hands clasped over his chest. 

 

“You've been writing your letters?” he observes, finally noticing my notebook. “Let's hear them.” Once he actually says that, I start to feel a little anxious about what I've written down. I don't think he realizes that although they seem half-assed and kinda rude, but this is actually me trying. 

 

“Uh... here,” I say, tossing the notebook onto his desk with a plop. He peers down at it, picks up up and opens it. His eyes scan the pages, he nods a few times, and I am wishing I was literally anywhere else but here. He looks up at me.

 

“Sorry for regretting cutting you in half?” he asks, his tone falling flat. I give him a shrug and a tight smile. I forgot that was in there. “Is that a metaphor?”

 

“Uh... yes?” He looks back down at the pages before he shuts it, clearing his throat and handing the it back to me.

 

“Good. That's good, Josh. Keep going.” I suddenly wonder what exactly my parents are paying him for. I literally wrote that I was sorry that I didn't cut Emily in half and he's just like … whatever. No biggie. I take the book from him hesitantly, I feel like this is a trap. That's probably Sam's fault – because of her I feel like everything is a trap.

 

“ _ Ooookay. _ ..” I breathe. I'm confused. “So, you like the letters?” He chuckles a bit, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes.  _ Oh, I'm sorry sir. Am I inconveniencing you somehow? _

 

 “Joshua, these letters aren't for me, they are for you,” he says.

 

Well, _fuck_.

 

If I would have known that I would have just ignored the request. He didn't make that clear last time.

 

“So.... you don't care what I wrote in them?” I ask.

 

“Do you want someone to care what you wrote in them?” he challenges. Well, kinda. It's not easy to apologize to seven people you've apparently mentally destroyed. Either way, I'm gonna keep writing them, I decide. I like writing them, actually. Helps clear my head and have a good idea where I stand with everyone.

We wrap up the therapy session, and I'm still wondering why I even bother coming (Oh yeah... I'm legally bound. I keep forgetting that). I'm sure it's helping me in _some_ way, but for now it just seems like something that eats up a lot of my time. Sam, on the other hand... she seems to be actually _helping_ me. As much as I hate to admit it, actually facing these people instead of holing myself up in my house is really... I don't know. It's cathartic.

When I get out into the parking lot, Sam's already there, leaning against the hood of her car like a calendar girl. I wanna smile at her, but I'm still sticking to my dark and brooding image I got goin' on, especially with the sunglasses... chicks _love_ a bad boy. I'm the baddest there is, so hopefully that goes a long way with her. If I'm lucky, she thinks she can change me. That always gets girls to stick around, right?

 

“C'mon, dork,” she calls out. I guess I'm dragging my feet. Sam promised we were gonna do something fun this afternoon; she said I deserve it after having to face Emily. I agree. However, my idea of fun is probably not the same as Sam's. For example, I had a blast rigging my parent's lodge to terrify my friends. Sam likes dumb stuff like bowling or painfully humiliating me. “Did Dr. Finke like your letters?” she asks as we get into her deathmobile. I shrug.

 

“He didn't really care,” I say.

 

“What? You worked so hard on those,” she defends. Although, I can't totally tell if she is being sarcastic. I snort, looking at her sideways.

 

“No I didn't.”

 

We get going, and once again I have no idea where today will lead me. Possibly a cast? Stitches? The possibilities with this girl are endless.

 

“Oh,  _shit_ ,” Sam suddenly mutters to herself, slapping the steering wheel in frustration. It lets out a little honk, which warrants a glare from the pedestrian couple that is currently crossing in front of us. I just wave to them, they wave back awkwardly. “ _Shit, shit shit._ I  _totally_  forgot, I need to drop this plate of cookies off at the church real quick– my mom made them for the bake sale.” She gestures towards the backseat, and sure enough there is a plate of cookies shrink-wrapped behind us.

 

“I mean... I guess we could just _eat_ them,” I shrug. I'm not even remotely serious. I have learned through past experience (I.E. her mother's awful vegan lasagna she delivered to my house after Beth and Hannah went missing) that Sam is _not_ the only vegan in her family and I'm half convinced those cookies must be made out of dirt, soy and tears of children who just want to eat normal cookies. Seriously, I've had to endure a few dishes from Sam's house, all of which seem like they were made by people who hate their taste buds and want to kill them.

 

“It'll just take a sec, it's just down this way,” she informs me before making a super sharp right turn out of nowhere. I hear someone honk at her behind her, but it doesn't seem to faze her in the slightest. What I'm learning, actually, is that not a lot fazes Sam. She just tends to zone in and out of her own little world.

 

“Sam, you realize that usually cars honk at you when they're upset, right?” She picks up the speed, and once again I find myself holding on for dear life. She must just think that the wake of angry honks behind her at all times are just the other driver's way of saying, 'Hello! Good day to you!' If she doesn't get herself killed in a car accident, someone's road rage will eventually do her in. And chances are, since I tend to be an unlucky bastard, I'll dragged down with her.

 

            It only takes a few seconds before she pulls into the driveway of a pretty modern-looking church. I didn’t even know Sam’s family went to church, let alone that her mom baked cookies for the bake sale. Something feels a little off; I’ve known Sam for 8 years and never once did I hear a mention of church. Now MY Bullshit Radar is going off the charts.

            She pulls into a spot and slams on her breaks, jerking the car into park and causing me to fly forward and nearly smack my forehead on the dashboard.

 

            “Seriously, Samantha! _Take_ Driver’s Ed!” I shout frustratedly. Just like the honks of other cars and well, just about anything for that matter, Sam remains unfazed.

 

            “We’re here!” she says cheerfully, unclicking her seatbelt and reaching back, grabbing the plate of ‘ _cookies_ ’. She pushes them into me, and I am forced to grab the plate before they end up all over my lap. “Run these in real quick for me, okay?” she insists.

 

            “Sam, you just do it, I don’t even know where-“

 

            “Go in, down a long hallway to the left, it’s a set of wooden doors on the right,” she rambles off. She can see that I am not budging. “Josh, if I do it, they're gonna try to talk to me and if you go it'll just be real quick.” I just stare at her, about to protest when her face hardens, her eyes narrow. She knows I'm gonna complain again. She can read me like a book. “Just...do it.” I sigh, relenting quickly before I sulkily get out of the car and slam my door behind me. _Great._ Just what I wanted to do with my afternoon. Better make this quick.

I walk through the front door of the church and into a lobby and I feel stupid – like, way more stupid than I already feel most of the time. Right, I know what you’re probably thinking.  _ You, Josh? Insecure? _  But alas, yes, as I carry this plate of disgusting cookies down the hallway of this generically decorated church…yeah. I’m feeling a little uncomfortable.

I don’t remember the last time I was in a church and honestly, given everything that I’ve apparently done over the last year or so, I’m a little surprised that I didn’t burst into flames as soon as I walked through the chapel doors.

            I still have my sunglasses on… So at least I _look_ cool...right?

 

            “Can I help you?” an old lady asks me. Her voice is crackly and croaky and she's completely hunched over with osteoporosis. I barely glance in her direction. Old people make me uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than churches.

 

            “Just delivering some cookies to-” I don’t even get to finish before she smiles and says ‘right this way.’ She leads me the exact way I was already going, and it’s more of a nuisance than a help to me. I already had my directions from Sam, I wasn’t gonna get lost. Plus she's painfully slow, and I feel like I have to wait for her...that's the polite, normal, thing to do right? 

 

           But let's be honest, I'm not a polite normal person. I'm an asshole. So I don't really slow down as she gestures towards a set of light, wooden double-doors toward the end of the hall. I nod to her as a thank you that she never sees, and the words don’t leave my mouth. I'm on a cookie-delivering-mission and I don't want to be here anymore. I push the doors open and…

             _I am going to fucking murder Sam._

 

            There’s a group of people, all different kinds of people, and they are all sitting in chairs in a big circle. I know exactly what this is. It's an AA meeting – I had to go to a couple when I got a possession ticket back when I was 16 (school security caught Chris and I sharing a beer behind the bleachers. I took the rap, as usual, and only I got in trouble because I was the one holding the can... and it was all my idea in the first place, let's be honest, here). 

It’s taking every bit of internal strength out of me to not turn around run out those doors as fast as I fucking can. Especially since I am currently staring at a seething, horrified Michael Munroe, who is sitting in the thick of it all, leering back at me.

           

            “ _Noooo_  fucking way, not this guy. Huh-uh. Get him outta here,” Mike demands, rising abruptly. I’m just standing there, dumbfounded with a plate of horrible cookies. I realize instantly that Sam set me up…and I totally, undeniably look like I’m there for the meeting.

 

            “Mike, settle down, anyone is welcome here-“ a woman says – I can tell right away she’s the leader. She’s got that ‘Intervention’ vibe going on. Believe me, I would know. I've met a lot of different types of counselors/therapists in my day. She stands, adjusting her ill-fitting blazer and nears me, as though I were a terrified woodland creature… I kinda am. “Welcome, come right in. My name is Helen,” she says, her palm on her chest. Of course it is. She looks exactly like her name would be Helen.

 

            “ _Wha_ …? No…I just… the cookies…” I begin to mutter, holding up the cookies like an idiot and backing away from her slowly as she nears me, everyone else in the circle staring back at me with welcoming smiles. It’s almost eerie, like a cult.

 

_Welcome. Joooiiiinnn uuuuus…_

 

I feel my heels clunck against the wall where Helen has me cornered, her hands snapping out and grabbing the plate of cookies from me – actually quite aggressively. I don’t care though, I’m happy to be rid of the things. She smiles, it’s a delirious kinda smile that makes me instantly unnerved, as if I wasn’t already.

 

            “I see you brought some cookies, that was very kind of you. I’ll go set them over on the refreshment table, you can have a seat, we were just about to get started.” I don’t like the way she talks – she annunciates way too much. I don’t wanna trust her. Then again, I’ve always been a bit of a mumbler and I’m literally the _least_ trustworthy person on the planet.

I peer around the room at all the waiting faces. There’s only one open seat, and I bet you can guess exactly who it’s next to. Mike, who's retreated back to his folding chair, uses his boot to kick the open chair away from him; it scoots along the tiled floor with a loud, scraping sound.

            Okay, so, _logically_ speaking, the thing I should do at this moment is explain that this was a misunderstanding and back out politely, but my social anxiety makes me do stupid things, like....ohhhh, I _dunno._.. walking out to the middle of the circle, grabbing the metal chair, pulling it into an open spot (far, far away from Mike, but right next to a biker-looking dude) and sitting down. I'm hating myself more and more as each moment passes, but I can't seem to stop myself. Which, in a lot of ways, is a brief summary of my entire life.

 

            “Would you like to introduce yourself?” she asks, her face hopeful but no. No, ma'am, I would  _not._  I fold my arms defiantly across my chest and lean back, hoping to disappear behind my sunglasses.

 

            “Pass,” I grunt. Mike scoffs and rolls his eyes.

 

            “What are you even doing here?” he hisses in almost a harsh whisper, as though no one else can hear. He's clearly unable to hide his irritation with my presence. Well, guess what, buddy? I also don't like that I'm here. And I sure would like to leave.

And yet... something about getting under his skin is kinda nice. I’m pretty sure I remember him punching me, at some point. Helen winces up her face, beginning to take the hint that he and I are not compadres at the moment.

 

            “I’m sensing you two have some history,” she points out. _No shit, Sherlock._

 

            “That’s an understatement,” Mike grumbles.

 

            “We’re actually ex-lovers,” I blurt. I quickly realize that the biker guy next to me is definitely gay and quite possibly interested as he raises his eyebrows and looks me up and down. He nods, looking a little satisfied and I don’t know if I should be disturbed or flattered. I opt for flattered. I’d probably be a good power-bottom, since life has a way of simply _loving_ to fuck me.  _Er… if I was into that kinda thing. Which I’m aaaabsolutely not._

 

            “You wish,” Mike retorts. He notices everyone staring at him awkwardly. “No, we're not ex-lovers,” he clarifies. Bike dude looks disappointed. I turn towards him.

 

“He's having a hard time letting me go,” I whisper.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Josh!” Mike finally shouts, angrily.

 

            “Gentlemen, remember, this needs to be a saf-”

 

            “ _Safe place,_ ” Mike and I happen to say in unison… and he kinda looks like he forgets that he’s mad at me for a second before the scowl returns. If he didn’t hate me, I probably would have gotten a high-five. Helen clears her throat and sits up straight; she is becoming increasingly aware that it was probably a mistake to invite me in.  
           

            “Michael, is there anything _you’d_ like to share?” she asks, turning towards him. The rest of the group looks either incredibly uncomfortable, or like they’re ready for the popcorn. Mike looks reluctant, but I gotta admit, I kinda wanna know why he's here. If anyone was considered the drunk of the group, it was always me (before I wasn't allowed to do fun things anymore, like drink). I typically outdrank everyone. I'm not sure why, now – I'm assuming it had to do with silencing my own demons but I tried not to think about it too hard. It made my head hurt. 

I gotta hand it to Mike, even with my annoying presence, he clears his throat and stands. Everyone turns their gazes to him, and I feel a little weird sitting here for this, but intrigued nonetheless. It's bizarre; _Mr. Jock, Mr. Class Prez, Mr. Perfect Michael Munroe_... going to AA meetings on a Monday afternoon. What the fuck happened to this guy?

 

“Hi everyone,” Mike begins, timidly. He clears his throat and tries to look around at everyone except for me. “A lot of you already know me...” he says, and a few of them nod and murmur in agreement. “But... for those of you who don't, my name is Mike and I'm an alcoholic.”

 

“Hi, Mike,” everyone says. I forgot we were supposed to say that, so I feel a little embarrassed for being like, the only one who didn't say it. I hope no one noticed. He opens his mouth to speak but pauses; it's odd to see him like this. He's so vulnerable, as though he's at a loss for words. This wasn't the Mike I'd grown to know and loathe.

Let me be clear for a moment – other than Chris, Mike was my best friend for a long time. We didn't have a lot in common, but he was a real wingman. He was ace at picking up chicks, he was confident and dashing and I could swoop in and make 'em laugh. We had years upon years of friendship between us.

And then he pulled that fucking prank on my sister. Like her heart and her feelings and our years of friendship meant dick to him. No, _fuck_ this guy. I'm not sorry. I don't regret anything where Mike is concerned. At least that is what I keep telling myself... but the human part of me feels some kind of odd sympathy for him, as he stands in front of everyone awkwardly, about to divulge his greatest shame.

 

“I've been clean for two months. I have always drank, you know, for as long as I can remember but... it got really, really bad this last year. More specifically the last four months,” he confesses. “It uh... it all started when I did something... pretty stupid. That stupid thing cost two people their lives, and at least one person their sanity.” His narrowed eyes flicker to me, then back at his audience. He sighs, swallowing hard. “And I didn't wanna shoulder that weight, so I found myself at the bottom of a bottle. A lot.”

As I listen to his story, I wonder how this vague it must sound to everyone else listening, especially knowing all the things I know. I know Mike blames me for his downward spiral; but I blame him for mine. How do you let bygones be bygones?

“I thought it was getting better, thought I had control over it. It turns out that I don't have control over it; none of us do. That's why we're here. But... four months ago something horrible happened to me and my friends, and it was all because of someone I _thought_ I trusted – someone I thought was my friend. And it wasn't this person's _fault_ that everything spiraled out of control, but after it was all over, I did anything I could to escape. I was drinking like a monster. I was _angry._ I drove people away that I loved and worse, I lost my girlfriend who uh... who I loved very much...”

Big Booty J dumped Mike for his drinking, eh? Didn't see _that_ one coming. I half expected him to hit it and quit it long before she got the brain capacity to leave him.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little hard on Mike. But shouldn't _someone_ be hard on Mike? The kid won the genetic lottery and his parents are loaded... not that I have room to talk. I'm a pretty privileged kid myself.

Suddenly, as Mike is getting to the heart of his story, about love and loss and shit about self-soothing of the alcoholic nature, I hear the unmistakable sound of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song. It takes me far to long to realize that it's coming from me, from my watch, more specifically. Mike shoots me a glare, everyone does for that matter. Talk about literally the worst timing in the world – I just can't seem to catch a break.

And the watch is new, so I'm desperately scrambling to get the damn thing to shut off, but I have no idea how. I mumble _sorry_ to everyone as I continue to struggle with it, and I'm half tempted to rip it off my wrist and stomp on it.

 

“ _Seriously_?” Mike grunts, and I cannot believe that it's still going off. I am pressing every fucking button I can. Turns out, you have to keep the side button pressed in. It finally stops, and my face is flushed and red from the embarrassment.

 

“Sorry, guys. Sorry,” I mutter, my hands up in surrender. No one looks impressed with me. I glance over at Mike, offering him a tight smile. “ _Continue._..” I say, a gesture with my hand and a bow of my head. I guess it comes out condescending. I'm not totally sure if I meant it that way or not.

Mike seems to think it was condescending... he says nothing, just lunges towards me with anger in his eyes, like he's gonna beat the ever-living shit outta me. I jump up onto my chair as the biker dude stands between us, two other dudes holding Mike back as he struggles to break free and more than likely kill me. It's a little extreme, but Mikey's always been a bit of a hothead. This is not the first time he's tried to kick my ass, and if I play my cards right, it won't be the last.

 

“M-maybe you should go,” Helen suggests through the turmoil. _Thank God. Don't mind if I do._

 

I jump over my seat and run out the double doors, then out of the church altogether. Kicked out of AA. That's a new low for me. 

            As I near her car, I can see Sam behind the wheel, casually thumbing through a magazine. I pull the car door open on the passenger side way harder than I anticipated, and it jolts Sam a bit. She glances up before she smiles at me. 

 

“What took so long?”

 

“What the _fuck_ , Sam! Was that your idea of fun? At least warn me before you send me into a battle, unarmed!” I say, hotly. I plop down in the seat beside her and slink back in my seat, slamming the car door shut. I reach into my messenger bag on the floor and pop one of my pills before I forget again.

 

“Hey, easy on the ride, mister. The car didn’t do anything to you.” She says comfortingly as she soothingly rubs her dashboard. Sam’s got that stupid smile on her face, the one where she’s trying to look all innocent. _I’m onto you, she-devil._

 

 “You sent me to an AA meeting!!!” She snorts at me and rolls her eyes, tossing her magazine in the back seat.

 

 “Nooo…I sent  _cookies_  to an AA meeting…” she corrects, turning the ignition. Fucking technicality.

 

“Oh, don’t you dare act like you didn’t know Mike was there!”

 

“Oh…hmm… he was?” She doesn’t ask this. She says it like she knew Mike was there. Of course she knew. Suddenly, the sound of someone banging on my window makes me jump in my seat. 

 

“Jeeee-sus  _ Christ _ !” I shout, startled, before I wearily look out to see a seething Mike at my door. I don't take my eyes off of him as I reach up slowly and lock my door for my own protection.

 

            “Get. Out. Of. The. Car. Fucker.” he yells slowly through the glass. I turn to Sam who's once again giggling at my expense.

 

            “Floor it, Sam! We’re going to Mexico!” She just continues to laugh and laugh as she presses a button on her door, my window slowly lowering. I glare at her.  _Traitor._

 

            “What’s up, Mike?” Sam asks, leaning almost across my lap to see him out the passenger window. Just like the Emily situation, I’m not above using her body as a human shield.

 

            “Sam? What the hell are you doing with this nutcase?” Mike asks. _Hey now. Words hurt, Michael._ I glower at him.

 

            “Oh, you _know._ Just _haaaangin_ ’ out,” she says coolly. I stare back up at Mike, hoping he doesn’t plan on giving me another black eye to match my first. His eyes keep darting back and forth between Sam and I, and her smile begins to wear on him as well. His fists unclench and he exhales.

 

“I'm assuming you were behind this?” he asks her, pointing at me. She scrunches her nose.

 

“Was he that bad?” she wonders.

 

“I almost beat his ass in front of everyone,” Mike hums, running a hand through his hair. I notice he's missing a few digits; I'd forgotten that.

 

“ _ Yeah right.. _ .” I grumble under my breath before I can stop myself. My eyes widen when I realize I said it aloud. What the fuck, Josh.

 

“Alright, that's it, outside!  _ Now _ !” Mike yells, reaching down and popping the lock up on my door and pulling it open. 

“Mike,  _ stop _ !” Sam intercedes, finally feeling like she's on my side for once.

 

“Why are you defending this asshole?”

 

“Because he's  _ my _ asshole!” Sam yells, but her voice looses it's confidence at the end of her sentence, more than likely after she realizes what she's actually just said. Her eyes find mine, nervously, and I just smile back at her. I kinda like being her asshole. She shakes her head, dismissively. “And anyway, Josh is trying to make amends. Don't you  _ remember _ , Mike? Down in the mines? Don't you remember that he's sick?” she asks. I don't like the way it sounds when she says that; like I'm some kind of injured animal she's gotta keep a shelter from putting down. I appreciate what she's trying to do, it just still kinda stings.

 

“But, he-”

 

“ _ You _ of all people should know about making amends, Mike,” she says lowly, her eyes burning into him. I'm actually pretty uncomfortable, sitting between the two. “What are those steps again? 8 and 9? Making a list of the people you've harmed and seeking forgiveness?” He folds his lips, clearly still aggravated, but also unable to argue that. He groans, taking a step away from the car.

 

“I knew I never should have given you a pamphlet,” he mumbles. 

 

“I'm sorry I broke you,” I say quietly, because I truly believe that even if he was battling this addiction for a long time, especially in dealing with the guilt of what happened to Hannah and Beth, that being dragged through all that hell on the mountain probably did him in the rest of the way. I peer up at him, I even take off my glasses so he can see my sincerity in my eyes, if that even exists anymore. “I... I lost my shit, man. I'm broken, too,” I admit. Mike doesn't say anything, just solemnly nods. 

 

“I'm... I'm sorry about your sisters, man,” he finally says, quietly. I wish he didn't bring up my sisters aloud; it tends to make my eyes mist up which is entirely not manly. But, as I look up at Mike and see that he has tears in his own eyes, I figure if Mike Munroe can shed a tear and still look tough, so can I. He offers me a handshake, and although it kinda grosses me out to shake his hand when it's missing fingers, I take it anyway. 

He's gotta get back to his meeting, so he gives me another nod and gives Sam a wave and goodbye. It doesn't feel like everything is okay again, but it does feel like it might be mending. I know I feel less angry, at the very least. Once he's made it away from the car, I exhale a sigh of relief. Still, less painful than pepper spray... definitely more emotional than I'd anticipated, though.

 

“ _ Welp _ , thanks for the fun time, today...” I spit sarcastically, referring to her promise earlier. Sam smiles.

 

“That wasn't it,” she says, cryptically. “I still have fun plans for you today. So you'll have to write your apology letter for Mike in the car.” I feel a smile tug at the sides of my lips. Samantha... always full of surprises. 

 

“Okay but... put something good on the radio.” 

 

“Aye, aye, captain.” And oh man does she deliver. Wonderwall, Oasis. I ask her to take it easy on the road, and she seems to actually be trying, which still isn't saying much. I pull out my notebook, and I struggle to write legibly as Sam weaves through traffic. “You're cute when you're concentrating,” Sam smirks at me. I'd be flattered, but the fact that she's staring at me means her eyes aren't on the road. 

 

“Watch the road, Sammy.” I just chuckle a bit and shake my head, trying to write Mike's letter before it all leaves my head.

 

_ Mike, _

_ I'm sorry I broke you. I'm broken, too. But... broken things can be fixed. And I think this is the beginning of a new stage in our lives.... no homo. _

 

Writing is making me carsick pretty quick, and I'm sure I will have more to add to it later, but I'm satisfied so far. I peer over at Sam, bobbing her head to the music.

 

“Where are we going now?” I ask. She shrugs, her smile coy.

 

“You'll just have to wait and see,” she suggests. And, as with everything in my life right now that Sam is in charge of, I just lean back, put my sunglasses back on and enjoy the scary, horrifying ride. 

 

And hope that I don't die.

 

_ Maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me  _

_ And after all you're my wonderwall _

 

 

_ To Be Continued... _

 

 

 


	6. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6:  
> There Is A Light That Never Goes Out:  
> Josh is dragged into yet another uncomfortable situation and hits his breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Time to add a lil more angst to the mix. Can't be funny all the time. Sorry, not sorry. I do what I want. It's a Dramedy, a comedy. Gotta progress the story. Get rekt.

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter Six:**

_There Is A Light That Never Goes Out_

_aka_

_Sometimes When I Get Mad For No Reason I Break My Hand on Stone Walls Because I'm An Idiot_

* * *

After a short drive from the church, we pull up and park at a café on the college campus; I gotta admit, it's kinda weird being back here. I haven't been back this way since I dropped out of school a few months after Hannah and Beth went missing.

Not much has changed around here, though, and I certainly don't  _miss_  it. I was never really meant to be on my own, I think. I tried to whole college thing, the no-parental-supervision thing, but all it really ever did for me was get me into binge drinking and other things that I would not be able to do anymore, because again, I am not allowed to do anything fun.

Oh, and I know what you're thinking but I can assure you that the torture Sam's had me endure over the last few days, while definitely defying my court order, is not considered what I would call fun.

Nonetheless, I remember this stupid café. All of the conceited art majors would go here because there was an open mic and for a few hours a week, they would get some equally pretentious audience to pretend like they were listening to their bullshit poetry and monologues, when really all they were doing was waiting for their own turn in the limelight.

 _So many fucking phonies._  I hated that about college, and if I'm being honest, I hate it about life in general. I'm not trying to channel my inner Holden Caulfield here, but  _fuck,_  I feel like I can relate to him, sometimes – minus the fact that Holden Caulfield was a whiney, little pussy.

As I sit in the passenger seat watching the students filter in and out of the café, I feel a resentment that I can't seem to stomach. Maybe it's because they're all passionate about something, anything. I don't remember what that feels like, anymore. Or, maybe it's because they get to live normal, functioning lives that I will probably never get to.

_Okay, now I am being a whiney, little pussy. Knock that off, right now, Washington._

I am trying to quit sulking, and Sam's talking a million miles a minute about animal rights – I tuned out a long time ago.  _Sam, sweets, you're cute and all but this topic is the least interesting thing anyone has ever talked about in the existence of the time._  But, not unlike the way I feel about the poets, I can't tell if I'm just bitter at her passion or actually uninterested.

Now she's unfastening her seatbelt and I follow suit. I guess this is the fun thing she was talking about; I can't imagine anything fun coming out of this and quite honestly, I am having a hard time trusting her ever again. The more time I had to think on our drive, the sorer at her I had become over the whole rehab fiasco. I am trying my best not to let it get to me, because I know somewhere deep,  _deeeeeeep_  down she means well, but at the same time I have this paranoid thought tugging at me that this is really just how Sam is extracting revenge on me, one excruciating situation at a time.

I could deal with the pepper spray and the out and out rejection from Emily. But… seeing Mike in that room, at his most vulnerable and broken… it made me...  _I dunno._..  _feel_  things. Things I don't like and don't want to feel. I never gave her permission for that – because up until this point, I still hadn't thought I'd done anything worth apologizing for.  _They_  fucked up,  _I_  retaliated on behalf of my dead sisters. Eye for an eye. It was fair. Noble even.

But Mike didn't walk off of that mountain unscathed, a better person having learned a lesson. He didn't even get to keep all of his fingers. He came out a broken, sad man. I just wanted to make them see what my sisters had felt for one night… I didn't want to ruin their  _lives._

"Josh?" Sam asks, her eyes fixated on my face now. "Are you even listening?"

_No, not at all._

But I swallow, my throat feeling dry, and nod anyway.

I'm not an idiot, by the way. I have a kind of idea what we are on campus for; Chris goes here now. He's studying Computer Science and Engineering. I saw it on his FaceSpace -  _er..._  whatever... I wasn't really keen on social networking even before I was forbidden from it anyway.

Here's the thing, though. I don't want to see Chris, if that's what she has up her sleeve. I told her I wasn't ready, but Sam doesn't seem to give a flying fuck about what I'm ready for or not. The more I think about it, the more anxious I'm becoming. She turns towards me, smiles. I can't reciprocate. I'm losing my cool. She sees this and her smile fades quickly.

"A-are you alright?" she asks. She brings her hand up and squeezes my bicep and my gaze falls towards her dainty hand.

_No, not at all._

Again, I nod anyway.

We walk toward the door of the darkened cafe, but I falter, stopping in my tracks.

"W-w-wait...What  _is_  this, Sam? I don't know if I can take any more of your  _surprises_  today," I spit. It sounds more angry and acidic than I intended, but my palms are on fire and I'm dizzy and I feel like I'm going to puke. She turns towards me, her eyebrows creasing together in concern. Oh, right; now she's concerned. I literally feel like my feet are cemented into the sidewalk. I'm not taking another step without a warning, at least a hint of what's to come.

"Just… trust me, it'll be just  _fine,"_  she assures, but again, I'm having a hard time believing her and the way she is looking at me, I can tell she knows that. She sighs, pushing me out of the way of the people trying to get past us and through the door. Not sure what their rush is; this café is lamesauce. Part of me kinda wants to warn them.

Sam puts her hands on my shoulders. I always tend to relax under her touch, but my heart speeds up at the same time. It's a bizarre feeling. She stares at me with those green eyes that change shades to match her mood. Right now they are vibrant, like something exciting is gonna happen. It makes me trust her even less.

"I feel like this is an ambush," I mumble.

"We don't have to stay," Sam says quickly. "I just… I need to show you something. I promise we don't have to talk to anyone else today." Even though I'm having a hard time concentrating on what she's saying, there's something hypnotic and almost calming about the way she moves her mouth while she's talking. I assume she's saying something comforting; she's always been good with her words. The skeezy part of me wonders what else her mouth is good at, but I feel kinda creepy for even letting that thought run through my head. "We can make this quick," she says. I hear that, because I instinctively respond with,

"Okay, I am good at doing things quick." Then, it's like I float outta my own body and hear myself say that and I want to die. "Er… not  _all_  things, for the record…" Her lips press together in a smile, a genuine one. I always like those. Then, she does something really odd. She leans forward and pulls me in for a hug. I'm just standing there, confused, as she wraps her arms around me, her cheek pressing into my chest as she holds on. I'm not... quite sure what to do with my hands, so I just stand there like an imbecile. She pulls away. "What...was that for?" She shrugs.

"Just seemed like you needed it. A little friendly, moral support." It didn't  _feel_  friendly. I'm friends with Mike and we don't hug and shit. I stuff my hands in my pockets after putting on my hood, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. I realize now that in the past, when my social anxiety would act up, I'd usually calm my nerves with a drink or two. I fucking miss those days. "You ready?" she asks me. I nod, and almost believe it myself.

"Lead the way."

And she does. Immediately after entering, she leads me to the right and up a flight of stairs, away from the ground floor where the stage is. I am definitely looking at her butt as it's face-level while she climbs the stairs ahead of me, that is until she glances down at me from behind and catches me. But she only smiles, doesn't scold me this time. I appreciate that. I can't take much more verbal lashing today.

Once we make it to the top we're on a balcony, overlooking the stage and the cafe tables below. There aren't that many people here, but enough to make me feel uneasy. I should have double-dosed today... I wish I had. We take our seats, and once again I find myself between Sam and another blonde. I turn towards Sam and lean in, quietly whispering,

"I miss Big Booty J..." She snorts and rolls her eyes. Jealousy looks cute on her.

"Well, I'm sure you'll see her again soon," she whispers back to me, quite harshly.

"Maybe..  _you know._.. all three of us could hang out. Have a sleep over," I suggest. Sam ignores me. "I told you that you could be the big spoon. She can be the ladle..." I murmur. At this point I'm just looking for a reaction. Remember how moms always told us growing up that if we ignore our harrasser they will give up? It's not true... "Maybe we could even fork-"

"Oh, is that another threesome joke, Josh?" she asks flatly, her eyebrow raised and her arms crossed. I shrug.

"When it actually happens, it'll stop being a joke."

"You're gonna be making that joke for a  _loooong_  time," she promises. I chuckle, putting an arm around her shoulder. I kinda expected her to wince to wriggle out of my grasp but she just... stays. It's nice. I get a whiff of her hair – coconut and vanilla or some shit. I try not to let my thoughts derail to Sam in the shower but… they do for a minute. I've already seen her in a towel…

"Samantha, it's so painfully obvious you don't want to have to share me. You can just say it," I say, my face daringly close to hers. I could kiss her now, in this dark cafe, and no one would even know except us. She turns her head towards me, her eyes tracing my face and for a second I freeze, like she's calling my bluff; it seems like she might actually be thinking the same thing. It makes my breath hitch. But no. Not  _my_  Sammy.

"Josh," she breaths quietly. I find myself leaning in closer to hear her. Her lips part into a small grin, her hand reaching up and cupping my cheek. And then, "...if you're that desperate to disappoint two people at once, why don't you just go out to dinner with your parents?"

"I…  _wow..."_  For one of the rarer times in my life, I'm almost rendered speechless. I feel a swell of air escape my chest in an awkward, defeated chuckle. Brilliant. "I literally don't know what to say to that one. I'm actually too proud of you to combat that."

"Thank you, I'll be here all week," she mocks a small bow, and totally blows any coolness out the window with her lame 'I'll be here all week' joke. The lights go dim and the stage lights up, but I am left staring at her in awe. She glances back, for only a moment before she faces forward. I guess it's time for open mic to begin.

As if to negate any brownie points she'd just made with me, Sam makes me sit through an agonizing 23 minutes of artistic bastards beating their own chests and pretending like what they are doing is special or relevant. I'm bored, and yet I can't look away.

Then, I see her – the reason why we are here. Turns out that Sam is no patron of the arts, and I was right about her having some kind of agenda.

She walks onto the stage, her reddish hair looking positively glowing under the stage light, and it's unmistakably her. When did Ashley start doing open mics? I knew she wrote or something, but...

She walks toward the microphone, lowering it a bit to meet her mouth, the former speaker having been too tall. I lean forward, my hands on my knees, because for once I actually kinda want to hear what she has to say.

Not that I don't like Ash. She's sweet and all, not really my type. I guess I could kinda see why Chris became all about her over the last few years. I mean, part of me wonders why I honed in so much on her that night, other than the fact that she was in on the prank and stealing my best friend…

_Oh. There it is. That must have been it._

Let me just clarify: if that was part of it, I didn't realize it on a conscious level until he  _chose_  her. Just thinking about it gets my adrenaline pumping. He fucking chose her. And he would, again and again and again. Probably for the rest of his life.

I'm not gay for Chris, fyi. I promise. I didn't expect him never to fall in love and all that shit.

But when he chose her, he confirmed what I'd already been feeling for that whole year after my friends pulled that dumb stunt on my sisters: that they don't care about me.

Ashley stands at the microphone and I can hear her breathing, slowly, steadily. It makes me uncomfortable. For a split second, I swear she's looking right at me and it seems like she can see me, but I know she can't…at least, I hope she can't. I slink back in my chair just in case, putting my sunglasses back on. I'm glad I brought them in.

 _"Black,"_  she begins, and I feel my mouth run dry. She pauses (for dramatic affect?) shakes her head, closes her eyes and leans into the microphone. " _It's everywhere. In my lungs. Stretching my limbs. Sometimes, monsters have the face of a friend._ "

"Sam I wanna go-" I lean in and whisper, but she shushes me. I grip onto my armrests like I'm on a rollercoaster – or like I'm in Sam's car. I don't feel safe. It becomes even worse as I stare down at the audience below, and realize that Chris is down there, watching Ashley read. I try to stand but Sam grabs my hand. It's not to pull me back down, more to say 'I'm here. And we're doing this.' I slowly lower back into my seat.

" _I don't hate the man who killed me, killed an innocence in me without asking. I hate the man who killed himself, struck himself from our lives. I hate the man who killed a part of the one I love. I hate the memories because with it comes the fear, and once again I have broken the promise I made to myself. A constant battle between remembering and forgetting."_  I stare down at the audience, and I'm unable to stop looking at Chris, read his facial expressions in the darkness but there's just no way. I cower as he turns, looking up. Could he sense he was being watched?

There's more, she's still babbling her poetic confessions to the audience, about how much she hates me and what I did but I can't stomach anymore. It's  _too_  much – always too much.

"Josh," Sam whispers my way, but it's at my back as I bolt. I can't be here.

I bust through the doors of the café and into the late afternoon air as though I had just been submerged under water for a long period of time. I begin to pace, trying to quiet the voices in my head. It's not the same voices as before, more like voices of self-doubt and frustration and I'm suddenly so fucking angry.

I turn and punch the bricked wall beside the building, hissing in pain as I study my scraped, bleeding knuckles. Fucking stupid choice, Josh. That was completely unnecessary. I'm pacing, before I turn and there's Sam.  _Of course_  there's Sam. I can't fucking get away from Sam.

 _"What!"_  I shout. It's not a question. I don't care what she wants.

"Are you…  _okay?"_  she asks, hesitantly. I step to her.

"No, I'm not fucking okay do I  _look_  okay?" Her eyes dart from side to side nervously to see if people are staring. We get a couple odd glances, but that's about it. No one has intervened or tackled me to the ground to protect little Sammy from me just yet. I clench my fist and wince at the pain.

"Can I see-" she says, bringing her hands up to take my broken hand but I snap it away.  _Don't_  touch me. I don't want to be touched. Can't she recognize when someone is in a manic state?  _The fuck, Sam._

 _"That,"_  I say, pointing to the building, "that was too much. I mean, the rehab thing was fucked, Sam, but no. I'm done.  _This,"_  I say, this time pointing at the space between the two of us. "This is  _done._  Call my mom, call my therapist, call the police, I don't give a shit what you do. I'm done. I'm not your puppet, Sam." She puffs out her chest a bit, giving off the illustion that she's standing strong, but I can see a hint of tears in her eyes. I don't care.

"I was  _trying_  to help you," she defends, crossing her arms across her chest.

"It's not your  _job_  to help. I didn't ask for your help!" I say loudly, Sam takes a step back from me. I probably look insane. That's because I am insane. "If you wanna help, why don't you figure your own shit out, okay?"

"I'm  _fine,"_  she says through gritted teeth. That makes me chuckle. I shake my head, running my uninjured hand through my hair. I want to rip it out.

"You keep saying that. But, you're clearly not fine, Samantha. You need just as much help as I do! You're living out some kind of sick revenge. Watching me go insane is getting you off or something." My words lose their punch towards the end, tapering off into a mumble.

"I'm trying to help you because I care about you, Josh, and you're a fucking idiot if you can't see that." Whoa, Sam's gettin' feisty again. I come near her, and she tries to pretend like my proximity doesn't make her uncomfortable but I can see her squirm under my stare. It's like hovering over her as the psychopath all over again, but this time there's no mask. Just the man behind the mask. The real monster.

"Why? Why do you care about me?" My voice is eerily calm, quiet. I lean in. "I tormented you, Samantha. I made you watch me die on a huge screen. I chased you and terrified you, giving you only a towel to defend yourself. I made you fear for your own life and you were never even in on the prank that killed my sisters. I did it for fun. I did it…because I could. And guess what? " I tilt my head, I can feel my left eye twitch as she stares back at me, her jaw locked and her breathing ragged. "I  _liked_  it, Sam."

_SLAP._

I can actually feel the red pool to my cheek from where her hand has hit me, and it makes me laugh. It was almost refreshing, to be knocked out of that mindset. But before I can thank her, she's storming off and getting into her car.

_Fine. I could use some fresh air anyways._

Because I'm definitely committed to being a whiney, little pussy for the rest of the day, and I realize that this walk is going to take a lot longer than I had anticipated (way to think that one through, Josh), I put in my headphones and blast the Smiths. No one gets my pissy, depressed state more than Morrissey, so I trust him to provide my background music as I trudge home, quietly swearing and writing apology letters in my head – they are back to being anger-laced and cynical, which makes me glad they are only in my head and my bag is still in Sam's car. Gonna need to get that bag back before my next pill is due tomorrow.

After a 40-minute walk home, I finally turn up my street. That's when I look in my driveway and I see a familiar car waiting for me there.

Morrissey is pining about the light that never goes out as I see Chris get out of the driver's seat, and now he's headed straight for me. I consider trying to make a run for it, but what's the point? This day is already a such fucking joy, let's add this to the list.

"Hey bro," I greet. Why the hell not. As he gets closer, I can see the glower on his face. Great, just the icing on the shit cake.

"Don't  _bro_  me," he retorts. "What were you doing there?" I knew he saw me at the cafe. I shrug.

"Just taking in the fine, artistic stylings of wannabe poets and braggarts on the campus."

 _"Oh bullshit, Josh,"_  Chris scoffs, jabbing me in the shoulder. "What were you really doing there? You hate that place. Was it to add some salt to the wounds? Because I know it wasn't because you're an art-lover. We made fun of that place together,  _remember?"_

"Sam dragged me," I finally relent. To be honest, I don't know how to answer that question. I don't know what I was doing there. He raises his eyebrows, nodding.

"Oh, right, right, right. I heard about that. Apparently, you're goin' around dishing out apologies." I furrow my brow, folding my arms. I'm a little uncomfortable that he knows that.

"Where did you hear  _that?"_ He doesn't care about my question  _nor_  is he going to answer it. _  
_

"I find it almost laughable that you're apologizing to everyone, considering it was, I dunno, ME who you made chose which of my best friends will die and oh, yeah! It was ME who had to decide to kill myself or the girl I love..." he says, his anger manifested on his face in a scowl. I'm starting to think he doesn't find it laughable at all. My headache comes back, that sharp one between my eyes. My vision blurs from the pain as I press on the area with my non-broken hand. _  
_

"Listen, dude-" I try, but he's having none of it.

"No, Josh.  _You_  listen. You might have put  _everyone_  through hell that night, but it was  _nothing_  compared to what you did to me, Ash and Sam. And yet you're apologizing to everyone else  _but_  us? Don't you think we were worth something to you? Don't you think we deserve an apology?"

"I don't know how, Chris!" I finally shout; it silences him. I exhale, I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack. "How do I even begin to apologize for what I did to you guys that night?" He exhales, his own nerves needing to calm as well. I know it's hard for him to be mad at me, even after everything I've put him through. He gives me a half-shrug, even the hint of a smile.

"You could start with the words," he suggests. I open my mouth, but before anything can come out I feel a vibration in my coat pocket.  _Hold that thought_. I glance down at my buzzing super spy phone. It's a text from Sam:

 **Sam** **:**  Mike relapsed.

* * *

_To Be Continued…_


	7. Long Way Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, fair warning. This chapter may end up being slightly controversial, but I hope you read it with an open mind and clear understanding about addiction, sponsors, and social responsibility. Not everything in this world is black and white and I am going to explore something using imperfect people who aren't mature enough or self-aware enough to know right way to handle every situation. People have been a little hard on Sam in this story, myself included, but we have to remember that these are essentially kids who are feeling life out in a way that might not be the best route. We grow and learn through our mistakes. Ok, I'm over explaining.

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter Seven:**

_Long Way Down_

_Aka_

_Who Let The Crazy Guy Be In Charge of Anything?_

* * *

The car ride is awkward.  _Painful,_  even. And, as a serial masochist, I feel like it is my duty to make it even more so. For both of us.

_Because I am a moron._

"You mad, bro?" I ask. He doesn't say anything to me but I see his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Is this about the saws?" He shoots me a dirty look, and I bite my lip to keep any more nonsense from slipping out.  _What the fuck is the matter with me?_ That is the question of the century.

I have never liked silence. It makes me uncomfortable. I have this horrible tick that makes me need to fill it, no matter how inappropriate that might be. For a moment, I wish Sam was there to slash open the quietness with her incessant chattering about all of God's amazing li'l creatures and why we shouldn't eat them. My stomach growls and my mind veers off to how good a steak sounds about now... I realize I haven't eaten anything all day.

Can't he at least turn on the radio?  _Fuck._

I reach down and push the power button myself;  _Big Girls Don't Cry_  is on some shitty pop station, right at that stupid, catchy chorus.

" _...And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket but I gotta get a move on with my life..._ " Fergs belts.  _I feel you, homegirl._  Such depth, such feels. I silently wonder if this song always sucked this badly.

"It's time to be a big girl now, Chris. And big girls don't cry," I say as straight-faced as I can. He's not amused at all. He snaps his arm forward and shuts the radio off. Back to silence. I groan loudly. I'm fidgety and tired and this day has been so long and why the fuck does it suddenly feel like Mike lives so far away?

I retreat to my passenger side of the car, folding my arms across my chest. I feel like we have both taken up our territories in the front seats of Chris' crappy little Volvo, the same one that should have long ago been dead and buried, pressed down into a little, metal box like in the  _Brave Little Toaster_  – as a kid that movie both traumatized me and gave me a strange, irrational love for inanimate objects.  _Mooooom, we can't throw my alarm clock away! He'll miss me too much!_

I look down at my feet, partially buried in fast food bags and loose papers.  _Typical college kid_. You'd be utterly shocked to find out that Chris is  _actually_  a huge slob. I peek up at him to see if he notices me silently judging him, but no. His jaw is clenched tightly as he tries his best to ignore that I'm even there with him and just focus on the road. I smirk a bit at his stubbornness, considering we were so close to patching things up right before that text from Sam came in.

"Quit looking at me," he barks, never even glancing my way – and yet he knew I was looking at him.  _Be mad all you want, Chrissy. You can't deny that we are soulmates._

 _"Aw..."_  I coo. "But you're so  _cute."_  I lean my head back on the seat and stare out the windshield. It's nice to be in a car without fearing for my life. When I look back over at him, he's trying his damnedest to suppress a grin. Chris has never been able to stay mad at me.

Case and point: One time, in grade 9, I  _'stole'_  his girlfriend. Not really, not even close. But that's what he reports when he tells the story- and  _ohhhh_   _boy,_  have I had to hear that story time and time and time again. It's almost as important in our history as the bra-snapping kid who brought us together in all of our bro-ly glory in the first place.

Her name was Kerry Roe.

She wasn't  _actually_  his girlfriend, FYI; he'd never even spoken to her, just gazed at her longingly from afar (another redhead, go figure - my boy has a type, for sure). Anyways, one day, she dropped her pencil on the floor in between Chris' desk and mine. He and I both reached down, but I got it first. Chris looked at me like I might as well have taken her as my lawfully wedded wife right then and there. I handed it back to her awkwardly under Chris' intense glare, and she crinkled her freckled nose and simply said  _'thanks.'_

Rumor has it after that she got this kinda obsessive crush on me but I never even talked to her again. Chris swears on his Butterfly Effect theory that had I not reached down and gotten that pencil a half a second  _before_  he did, they'd be married and living in the Shetland Islands by now with six children and a sailboat.

Either way, he didn't stay mad at me over that, even though he really,  _really_  wanted to. He still talks about it to this day, but there's no true anger there. There never has been...

That's why this feels so  _strange._  And the worst part is, I didn't even realize until I saw him today just how much I missed the guy... and realized just how much I fucked up with him. I decide it's time to get serious, and I am willing to talk to him about his favorite topic in the world.

"How's... uh... How's Ashley?" I ask, trying my best to sound sincere. He scoffs a bit and shakes his head. His eyes flit over to me for only a second, before diverting back to the road. And then, he sighs, relaxing a bit at the mention of her name. He can't resist the topic. I know this kid better than I know myself.

"She's... fine, all things considered. Seeing a therapist-"

"Me too!" I blurt, all too eagerly. He swallows, pressing down on the gas a bit. I know he just wants to get there. I do, too. I clear my throat, checking my tone. "I mean...that  _blows._  But at least she's getting the help she -"

"She didn't  _need_  help before you, man. Don't you  _get_  that?" Chris snaps. I was just trying to be optimistic,  _bro._

"Jeez, yeah, okay. G _ot it,_ " I grumble, slouching back down into my seat, retreating back under my hood of my jacket. I chuckle out a humorless laugh, shaking my head.  _So much for our little moment outside my house._  "I thought-" I begin, my words trailing off. No point, I am realizing. "Never mind."

"You thought what?" Chris asks, his tone still sharp. I feel like my seat belt is stifling me. It's taking everything out of me not to tuck and roll out of this moving vehicle onto the freeway. I don't answer him right away, he raises his voice, "You thought  _what,_  Josh?"

"I dunno! I thought you wanted to make up or let bygones be bygones or water under the bridge, or whatever," I spout off. I writhe in my seat, yanking on the seat belt and kicking the garbage away from my feet. I feel closed in. Claustrophobic.  _"Fuck,_  clean out your car, dude!" I shout, pretty much completely overreacting.  _Anxiety levels rising. Heart rate increasing._

"Yeah, I  _did!_  If you were sorry! But you're  _not_  sorry, Josh! You can't even say the goddamn words!"

"I'm sorry, okay?! Suuuuuper sorry!" It's like I'm crying  _'uncle'_  and he's got me in a headlock. I can't take much more of this. I literally have no escape. I have to face this.

"For what?"

_Meltdown mode, initiated in 3...2..._

"I-I'm sorry for traumatizing sweet,  _precious_  Ashley a-and I'm sorry that I threw away eleven years of friendship with you. I'm sorry that no one trusts me or wants me around anymore because I'm fucking damaged goods!" I erupt. My chest feels tight, my eyes kinda sting.  _Do not cry, Joshua. Don't you dare fucking do it. Big Girls Don't Cry, remember?_  
"I'm sorry that my parents don't have any kids left, at least none that they can be proud of. I'm sorry my dad won't talk to me and that I have to see a shrink three days a week who asks me about jerking-off. I'm sorry I made Mike drink again. I'm sorry that I got all crazy-scary on Sam today and upset her when all she's trying to do is help – in her own way, I guess but... she made me buy this horrible $350 purse for Emily and I got pepper sprayed, she threw away my burrito-" I sigh, I'm not making sense to him at all, I can tell by his one raised eyebrow over his black-framed glasses. I try to get back to the point. I look down at my shaking hands.  
"And I'm sorry that it took me so long to be sorry. But mostly, I'm sorry that all those things are so fucking hard to carry on my shoulders, and I don't even get to have my best friend in my corner anymore because I fucked it up. Is that what you were looking for?"

Chris says nothing at first, and it makes me even more nervous and uncomfortable than I was before. He slows the car before pulling into an apartment complex, and I realize that we've made it to our destination. He lurches the car into a spot, turning the engine off before he fidgets with his keys in his hand for a moment. I feel like I might die from the crushing, agonizing silence.

"Would you  _just_  fucking say something?" I snap. He turns towards me, and I feel like it might be the first time he's looked at me since that night on the mountain, I mean really looked at me. Not some half-hearted glance, but truly saw me.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he finally says, his face twisting up into a smirk before he reaches over to slap me on the shoulder. If I hadn't just apologized, I might have considered smacking it off of him...but I think from that look, we might be on our way to being okay. Then, his brows crease, his wheels turning. "$350 on a  _purse?"_  I groan.

 _"Don't_  ask. I'm still reeling from that one..." He laughs a bit, taking in a deep breath and staring at the door to Mike's apartment. We're here. We're doing this. I am not even totally sure what we're doing, at this point.

 _"You_  made Mike drink again?" he questions. He shakes his head. "How?"

"I don't know if I did...but I mean... I saw him today. Earlier. At AA-"

"Oh, you're going to meetings again?"

"No, it's a long story. It was one of Sam's awful,  _awful_  ideas. And I dunno. I think I got him all messed up when I saw him," I shrug. And not a casual shrug, as though I don't care. I shrug because I really don't know. If Mike seeing me today pushed him over the edge, then I truly feel fucking terrible. But, until we get in there, I have no idea what the situation is.

Chris reaches for the handle on his door before pausing, turning to me one more time.

"And... _you and Sam_... what's, uh...what's  _that_  about?" he ventures. I open my mouth to speak before I realize that there's no way to explain what Sam and I have become... so I just smile and shake my head with another shrug.

"I...have  _no_  fucking idea."

"Cuz you're like  _tooootally_  over that li'l crush you had on her in high school, right?" he says with an eyeroll, as though he has any room to talk whatsoever on the topic of long-time crushes or dragging your feet when it comes to a girl.

"Oh, yeah.  _Totally._  She's like... practically a brother to me."

 _"Mmmmhmm,"_  he hums unconvincingly, getting out of the car. As I get out and we walk up the sidewalk together, I can't stop thinking about back when I was going to AA meetings for my minor in possession ticket, and one particular night that kinda changed me, even though I don't even know how or why. You see, that night we had this speaker and he told this story that really stuck with me.

He stood up in front of us, this huge guy who looked like he'd seen the shittier side of life and lived to tell the tale. At the time, I didn't realize just how important his story would become to me, because I was just some stupid, punk kid who wanted to hurry up and get my punishment over with. I realize now that not much has changed since that rainy, fall day.

He told us a story called 'The Man in the Hole.'

In short, once upon a time, there was a man who was swallowed up into a deep, inescapable hole in the middle of the ground. He had tried everything to get himself out, but he couldn't seem to escape. Soon, people passed by and offered their help, but nothing worked. (If you haven't gathered that this is a story about addiction yet, then I can't help you).

First came his family. They lowered in a ladder but the man climbed up, took the ladder to the store and sold it before falling back into the hole again

Next came a friend who tried to reach down and pull the man out. When he couldn't reach him, he simply shouted, ' _sorry you're in that hole! Hope you get out soon!_ ' And went along his way.

Along came a therapist who sat at the edge of the hole and mused, ' _How do you think you got into that hole? How do you think you'll get out? Was your father in a hole, too?_ ' Once he'd gotten some answers, he went along his way.

Soon came a doctor. The doctor tossed down some pills to the man and said, ' _Here! This will make being down in that awful hole easier!_ ' And for a while, it did. But when the pills ran out, the man realized he was still down in that hole.

He felt helpless. It seemed  _hopeless._  Soon the man began to resign to the fact that he was simply meant to exist down in this hole until he inevitably curled up and died.

Now, as a teenage kid (who at the time felt like these AA meetings were a bit corny and unnecessary), you can imagine that hearing this story left me feeling pretty despondent. I mean, how was he ever supposed to make it out and was that me? Was I to become the man in the hole one day? Would the man ever make it out?

_Well, get this._

Along came another man, peering down at the man in the hole. Without a second thought, he jumped down into the hole with him. The first man exclaimed, ' _Why would you do that? There's no way out! Now you're stuck down here in this hole with me!_ '

And the second man said, ' _It's okay. I've been down in this hole before. And I know the way out._ '

As I stare at the bottle of whiskey on Mike's kitchen counter, those words are echoing in my head, over and over and over again. My eyes search for Chris, who's standing near me, his arms folded as we try to find the right words to say to Mike; gotta be honest, he doesn't look too good.

He's slumped down the bar stool in front of us at the counter, his head lightly bobbing from side to side. His normally ruggedly handsome features look surprisingly harsh in the flickering, fluorescent light above us. He's got a mad case of the wobbles.

"What's uh... what's going on, man?" Chris finally asks, breaking the tension.

"Two months sobriety," Mike mumbles, his hand stretching up and motioning a downward slope, like plane falling from the sky. He makes a whistle sound before a crash.

"Hey. Shit happens. Don't beat yourself up too bad," I offer. Chris' eyes fall to me, his face looking worried, as if to say, ' _are you sure that's what we're supposed to say?_ ' To be honest,  _I don't fucking know._  I know what I learned in a few meetings, which is you're never supposed to make someone feel bad about themselves or their problem, and you're really not supposed to discuss treatment while they are under the influence.  _Just...be_  there for them.

I glance around the apartment; there's some beer bottles haphazardly scattered about but it's nothing  _too_  damning; a few beers on a now-lowered tolerance level. I was actually expecting worse. Still, I can't seem to stop focusing in on the mostly full bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter, as if Mikey was working up the courage to get to it. He'd barely made a dent in it. It makes my mouth water.

"Can we do anything for you?" I propose, forcing my eyes to his face instead of the bottle. He lazily brings his hand up to his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand.

"What the fuck do you care?" he asks. I'm not offended. I've seen this before. He's ' _Mean-Mike'_ , right now. I've partied with this guy for the last four years and I know his drinking habits. Mike starts off happy when he's buzzed, but when he's about six beers in he turns mean and combative...but just passed that point, he gets real and honest. Starts opening up. Mike's never been a really deep guy, but our best conversations and the moments where I really got to know him as a person were always at that point in the evening where everyone else had passed out and he and I were the last ones awake.

In those times, he'd told me about his mom's drinking and his dad's anger, told me about his low attention span and dyslexia, his fear about not making it to college. He'd even told me about his hamster dying when he was nine.

I'm no doctor or therapist and I'm hardly an expert on shit...but maybe Mike needs to get to that point one more time to really figure out why he was hiding at the bottom of a bottle again. Because until he figures that shit out, he's never gonna beat this.

"Why don't we… play a little game," I suggest. I hear Chris snort beside me.

"Uh, thanks but  _no_  thanks, Josh. We know what kinda games  _you_  like to play…" I don't flinch. I deserved that. But bantering with Chris is not my main concern right now.

"Mike? Wanna play a game?" I ask again. His head pops up, he gives a shrug.

"Whatever," he hiccups. I pick up the bottle of Jack and slam it down in front of us on the counter with a thud. Chris jumps instantly at the sound; Mike's jump is noticeably delayed. "But I'm not playing spin the bottle," he mumbles. He must have really been disturbed by what I said at the AA meeting, about us being lovers – or perhaps even questioning his sexuality.  _Sorry, Mikey. Believe it or not, I might be the one person on this earth who is immune to your charms. Flattered though… really._

"Nope. It's kinda like a... drinking game." Mike's ears perk up at the words. I actually have no intention of playing an actual drinking game with him, just trying to buy us some time. He looks at us both, a little surprised that I would even suggest that. I bet he just thought we were here to make him feel worse than he already does. Chris' mouth is agape. Always the worrier.

 _"Dude,"_  Chris hisses, scolding. "I  _hardly_  think drinking with Mike is the solution, here…" Chris is smart, and in a lot of ways, he's right. It's completely taboo offer to drink with a recovering alcoholic, even if he's already made the giant, running leap off the wagon on his own.

"You don't  _have_  to drink to play it but we're not gonna stop you if that's your choice, 'kay, Mike?" I say, leaning my head down a bit to meet his gaze. I feel like I'm reasoning with a 5-year-old. "Clearly you're gonna drink with or without us, so... as my good friend Billy Joel says ' _we're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone_.' Plus, you know, you were always the champ at drinking games, remember?" Mike's ego seems pleased. He sits up straighter in his chair, clears his throat.

"What  _kinda_  game?"  _Bingo._  Mike's not the only one with something to lose here, by the way. Drinking is strictly prohibited on my probation, remember? But...

The thing is, I am that man passing by. I know his problem and in some ways, I've been there. And I'm jumping down in that hole with him so we can figure this thing out together, whether he wants me there with him or not.

 _Look,_  before you get all mad at me for this, hear me out.  _Somewhere_  inside of Mike, he believes that he  _needs_  this. So, for now, he needs his friend and unfortunately, he needs his friend to get down on his level; not standing above him or looking down on him, but standing beside him.

Sobriety, like sanity, my friends, is NOT always a straight line. It curves and ebbs and flows, and the biggest part of  _choosing_  to abstain from alcohol is remembering that it is not only a choice, but also remembering that you might fuck up a time or two. Maybe even a million times.

"Two truths, one lie," I say. I don't actually know how this game is played, really, but the best thing I can do is get Mike opening up, get him talking. Whatever is haunting him and making him feel the need to drink needs to be expelled from him; what better truth serum is there? "Each of us tells two truths…"

"…and lemme guess. One lie?" Mike gasps.  _Smartass._  "I'm drunk, not an idiot, Josh."

"I kinda beg to differ," I murmur.

"What?"

"Look, are we playing or not?" I look to Chris, who looks more than disapproving of my decision, here. But let's be honest, who else is stepping up to take control of the situation? And why on earth would someone think that the crazy guy who rigs up torture devices and has to be heavily medicated to function in normal society is the best person for the job?

"I'm just… waiting to see where this goes," Chris utters quietly. He's not going to encourage it, but he knows he can't stop it, either. Before we can get any further, there's a knock at the door.

 _"C'min!"_  Mike yells from his seat on the bar stool before Chris or I can stop him. The front door creaks open and Sam enters the apartment, her eyes slightly widening when she sees me. "Samaaaaantha," Mike exclaims. "Join the party." I forgot I never texted her back, just told Chris about her text and we both headed right over. She pauses for a moment, probably deciding if she hates me right now more than she cares about Mike's well being. I guess she's okay, because she walks the rest of the way in, sliding in between Chris and I to look at Mike.

"Kinda surprised to see you guys here...  _together,"_  she admits, referring to Chris and me. Maybe Sam's just jealous that she didn't get to witness my showdown with him; she woulda gotten a kick out of listening to my huge meltdown in his car a bit ago. She turns her attentions to Mike.  _"Hey,"_  she says sweetly to him, as though she's greeting a kindergartner.  _Hey, lil guy, why so blue?_  "How's he doing?" she says low, under her breath. I can't tell which of us she's talking to, but I answer anyway.

"Oh, Mikey, here? He's fine. We were just about to start a game-" I announce.

"A drinking game!" Mike pipes up, all chipper now. Sam's narrowed eyes dart to me. I laugh nervously.

 _"Kiiiiind_  of a drinking game," I correct. It seemed like a better idea before Sam was here to, you know... point out how much it wasn't a good idea. "I said  _kind_  of, Mike..."

 _"Josh,"_  she hisses in the exact same tone I already got from Chris. Mike has now picked up the bottle and he's spinning the cap off before he pours some into a shotglass. Sam's done even remotely entertaining this idea, and before I know it she has a grip on the neck of my hoodie and she's dragging me a few feet away into the hallway.

" _Ohhh-ho-ho-ho_ ," I hear Mike call out after us. "Joshie's in  _trooouble..."_  I yank away from her, but I don't retreat, at least offering to hear what she has to say. I glance over and notice that Chris has followed us. "Hey, guys, you want some music?" He calls over, but we don't even have a chance to respond before he's got his stereo on, speakers pumping out  _Long Way Down_  by Robert Delong, loudly… _at least it's not Fergie._

"Can you turn it down a bit?" Sam calls out over the synthesizers, but Mike's not listening, he's mocking air guitar…even though there's no guitar playing at the moment.

"I love this song, too!" he shouts back. Sam turns her glare back at me, as there's no reasoning with Mikeyboy at the moment.

"Are you  _crazy?"_  she asks me. I raise an eyebrow. Does she really want to ask  _me_  that? Because 4 out of 5 doctors would agree that I am, indeed, crazy. She brings her hand to her forehead, shaking her head. "Never mind. Don't answer that. Josh, this is  _nuts_. He's  _relapsed,"_  she whispers harshly. I gotta be honest, I'm gettin' kinda tired of her throwing that word around.

"He hasn't relapsed, okay? Stop saying that," I defend. "There is a difference between a full relapse and a slip.  _This,"_ I say, pointing towards Mike who's still rocking out in the living room, "is a slip. It happens to most recovering alcoholics at some point and it's not the end of the world. He needs to know he has friends right now, he needs to feel like we're here for him, judgments aside." I gotta be honest, I'm not even sure where any of this is coming from. Probably pent-up, forgotten nuggets of knowledge I retained from those AA meetings before. Chris relents, his hand resting on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, I hate to admit it, but I think he's right. I mean, we  _can't_  stop him. All we can do is help him use this as an opportunity to figure out why he chose to drink again in the first place. Maybe help him face his demons." Sam chews on her tongue a bit, and I can tell she doesn't like the idea one bit.

"Unless... you have a better idea? Bash him over the head? Knock him out and hide all the booze? Call his mommy?" They both look at me wordlessly. I raise my hands. "I'm  _literally_  the only one throwing out suggestions, here."

"Well, I don't think suggesting a kinda drinking game was the best plan but..." her words falter, tapering off as she exhales from her nose, defeated. "I just hope you know what you're doing," she finally says after a moment. We glance back over to the counter, where Mike is tipping back the shot. I shake my head.

I don't have a goddamn clue.

 _So take it in, don't hold your breath_  
_The bottom's all I found_  
_We can't get higher than we get_  
_On the long way down_

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	8. Start Of Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.
> 
> p.s. I do not condone riding in a car that Sam is piloting - sober OR tipsy. That is all.

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

  **Chapter Eight:**

_Start Of Something_

_aka_

_So, It Turns Out Sam Made Out With My Sister_

* * *

Call it nerves, call it stupidity, call it whatever you like… but Chris, Sam and I quickly and discretely take turns throwing back a shot of Jack... you know, just to take the _edge_ off. We don't do this in front of Mike, of course; we wait until he excuses himself from us. He weaves a crooked line down the hallway and through the door at the end, which turns out to be a closet, and then corrects himself towards the bathroom. Realizing what we have in store for us, we silently take one more shot each for good measure before he stumbles back to us.

"Okay, since no one else is offering, I guess I'll start," I say, rolling up my sleeves on my black hoodie. Time to get down to business, although I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I am the one in control here. Seems a little irresponsible of Chris and Sam, letting the psychopath lead the pack. I guess we will just have to see how this goes. I reach over and refill the shot glass, the golden color of the booze shining under the shitty kitchen lights. The liquid swirls a bit, and then settles, as I think of what my two truths will be.

Sam and Chris have reconvened beside me, and it looks like they might even be willing to participate, now. _Thanks, Jack Daniels._

"Here we go," I say, holding up one finger. I clear my throat. "My first statement is that I could _totally_ get arrested for being here." _Two fingers._ "My second statement is that even _though_ I could totally get arrested for being here, I am okay with taking that risk. Which means I still consider you one of my best friends, Mike. And my third statement…" I pause, chewing on my tongue for a moment. I already feel like I've made this far too mushy for our own good. I glance at Sam, who's just staring at the shot glass mindlessly. _Three fingers._ "…is that Samantha is a really, _really_ good driver," I finish. Her eyes shift to mine, and she suppresses a grin. No one speaks at first, and I look to Mike. _"Well?_ Which one is a lie, Mike?"

Mike leans back a bit, his eyes never leaving the shot glass and his posture unsure. I thought it was an easy one, but apparently Mike is struggling. Finally he looks at me, his jaw slack as he commits to an answer.

"…I _think..._ the fact that you still consider me one of your best friends is a lie," he finally guesses. (Clearly he's never had the privilege of driving in Sam's Deathmobile.) I feel a grin crack across my face. Mike's such a drama queen, sometimes. Of course he'd pick _that_ one. I relish in telling him he's incorrect. Whether I think he's a total douchebag sometimes or not (and I'm certain the feeling is mutual) I do still consider the bastard one of my best friends.

 _"Nope,_ you're wrong./" I place my hand on his shoulder. "I _love_ you, Mikey," I add.

 _"Hey!"_ Sam interjects, mock offense painting her features as she smacks me in the shoulder. She's clearly used the process of elimination to figure out which one the lie was; although it can't be _that_ much of a surprise. I tell her all the time. "I am a _great_ driver!"

"Oh, is that your one lie, Sammy? Because you have to _wait._ It's not your turn." I say, patting her sympathetically on the top of the head. She's so short. She writhes out of my grasp and folds her arms over her chest, pouting a bit. "It's not just that I think you're a bad driver, okay? It's that I think an old, blind dog that's chain smoking and talking on a cellphone could probably handle an interstate highway better than you…" She relents and gives me a giggle before we both turn back to Mike. She knows she's awful. _Good._ The first step is admitting it.

"Guess that means I drink?" he offers as his arm stretches forward, about to grab the shot glass from in front of us. Sam's eyes dart to me, anxiously. _I'm on it_. I reach out and grab it quickly before he can snag it.

"Nope, I do," I mutter quickly before shooting it back. I'm three shots in, now. It burns _so_ good going down, and although I may live to regret that decision, it was better me than Mike. Mike scoffs and shakes his head before he throws his arms up. He's catching onto the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing here.

"This game doesn't even make sense."

 _"Nope,"_ I grunt in agreement, setting the glass back down on the table with muted thud. I point to Chris without taking my eyes off Mike. "Chris. Your turn. Go," I demand, beginning to refill the glass once more. Chris shifts his weight on his feet a bit nervously. I would have thought that the two pregame shots would have done the trick, but apparently he still has his reservations. Finally, under the pressure of our waiting eyes, he sighs, drops his arms and takes a step towards the counter, ready to participate. _Atta boy._

"Okay, _okay…"_ he gives in. He takes in a sharp breath. "My first statement, I guess, is that I, you know, like computers-"

 _"Lame!"_ I practically shout out, sharply. Chris jumps a bit before his eyes narrow at me and he shakes his head. "Gotta do better than that, buddy. This is a bonding exercise."

 _"Fine,"_ he says through slightly gritted teeth. His eyes look heavenward as he thinks. "Uh… my first statement is…" he pauses, but then he straightens his jacket and confesses, "Ashley and I are getting married-" Before Chris can even finish, Sam has let out a loud gasp, her hands cupping over her mouth to stifle the sound of a slight squeal. Chris chuckles before he continues. "My second statement is that, you know… I've really missed us all hanging out together, and even though I can't say I'm happy about the circumstances, I'm glad we're all here," he admits, and I know that's one of the most truthful statements we're gonna get tonight. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy… but that might be the Jack swirling around in my empty stomach. "…And my _third_ statement is… that last quarter I applied and got denied to MIT," he states, disappointedly, snapping his fingers and crooking his arm in an ' _aw shucks!_ ' fashion.

 _Huh. Interesting._ This is actually a tough one to decipher, considering I _know_ the second statement is the truth, but I'm still not sure which of the other two is a lie. I use my deduction skills to note that it took Chris damn near a decade to admit his feelings for Ashley, so perhaps the first statement is the lie.

"Who's supposed to guess?" Sam asks, suddenly. _Good question_. I've just been winging it. I spit out the first logical thing that crosses my mind.

"The last person who went has to guess, so _me._ And I sayyyyy… the wedding is the lie." I'm feeling good about this. Confident even… until I see Chris give me a smile that reaches his eyes, and I realize instantly that I guessed wrong.

"Nope!" He brings the shot glass to his lips and tipping it back. He slams the glass down and winces before confidently declaring, "We're getting married next summer."

 _"Woooow,_ finally makin' an honest woman outta our Ashley," Sam teases, jabbing one of those pointy elbows into his ribcage. "Took ya long enough!" Chris laughs under his breath and his face reddens. I'm having a hard time believing it myself.

"So, wait... am I gonna get invited to the wedding or do I just have to tag along with Sam as her plus one?" I ask. I hear her gasp which means I've offended Sam. _Again._ Nothing new, I would figure she'd be used to it by now.

 _"Hey!"_ Sam turns towards me, her hands on her hips. "How do you know I won't have a date, huh?" Sam asks indignantly, and admittedly pretty cute as she sticks her chin out. Things feel normal once more. I almost forgot about freaking out on her earlier, and she seems to have forgiven it too. _Thanks again, Jack Daniels. You're scoring all over the place tonight._

"Sam, let's face it: you're pushy, you're a bad driver and worse, you're vegan. No one is gonna want you so why don't you just lower your standards and accept the fact that I am your future?" I get another (well-deserved) punch in the shoulder.

"You're such an asshole," she snorts between chuckles. I wasn't joking. I'm fairly certain if we don't kill each other first, I'm going to marry this girl. I'll let her play it off as a joke if that helps her sleep better at night, though. We both notice the guys staring at us and realize we are probably making them curious and/or uncomfortable. We take a step away from each other when we realize how close we're standing. This is happening too much tonight... and I blame the booze. Or the pent-up sexual tension.

"Then...wait... which one was the lie?" Mike asks, still bewildered. _Shit._ I almost forgot about him; our guest of honor is getting a little bit left in the dust over here. Chris gives a trademark half-shrug.

"Well… statement _two_ was definitely true… I missed you guys," he says, that sly smile unable to leave his face. "And…I guess I'm just gonna have to _keep_ missing you because I did apply for MIT. The lie was that I got denied…"

"Chris that's _amazing!"_ Sam shouts, jumping into his personal space (as usual, no boundaries for this girl) and wrapping her arms around him in a celebratory hug. I know I should be happy; Chris has dreamed about going to MIT since we were just two little kids dinking around on my dad's PC, but I can't help but feel my stomach drop a bit at his announcement. I mean, no one deserves that opportunity more than him… but I can't imagine not having him in the same time zone anymore… I guess that's just the way life works sometimes. I offer him a tight-lipped smile and a high five. I'll get over it. He deserves this.

 _"Cool_ man. Good for you." I think it sounds sincere, but I can see by faintest and most fleeting waver in his smile that tells me he can sense my reservations. He knows me too well. Shit. I forgot that.

"It's only for a while. I'll be back," he promises, reassuringly. _No he won't. Why would he? There's nothing for him here._ I am suddenly aware of how much I hate the way they coddle me, as if I'm basket case one situation away from imploding on myself _. Oh, wait. I am. I keep forgetting that._

"Oh, yeah, dude. I know," I sputter out, trying to say it nonchalantly, but the crack in my voice gives me away. I feel Sam's hand enclosing around my bicep and she gives it a gentle squeeze, a reminder that she's still there.

"My turn," Sam volunteers happily, veering me away from yet another meltdown. _Thanks, kid. I owe you one._ "Let's seeeee… my _first_ statement is that I had a very vivid and inappropriate dream involving Josh, recently…" My jaw drops and I feel both embarrassed and flattered at the same time. She just throws that bomb out there, unannounced. _Holy shit._ My heart rate speeds up and I kinda feel like I might puke… but in a good way? I have no idea. My body doesn't know what to do with any type of stress, good or bad. Just processes it the same way.

"That one's the lie!" Mike yells. I shoot him an involuntary glare. _Thanks dude._ He points to Sam and then to himself. "We're the Daring Duo, remember?" He winks at her. _Whatever._ She ignores him, which makes me feel a little bit better.

"My _second_ statement is..." her cheeks pinken a bit and she tucks a loose piece of blonde hair behind her ear. I'm a little nervous about what she could possibly be about to say since it is clearly making her blush, and yet the nature of the first did not. "…One time in high school, Hannah and I practiced kissing…" Now I feel like puking in the bad way. Mike and Chris erupt into a fit of whoops and laughter. I cringe at the thought.

 _"Jesus,_ Sam!" I snap as she giggles, unsympathetically. She's the psychopath, here. "I really hope that one's the lie," I blurt, even more surprised by her than I was before. Never mind her veering me from a meltdown before; now I'm convinced she wants to give me a heart attack. I can't read her poker face, and it turns out all it takes is two shots of Jack Daniels before Sam 1) gets saucy and 2) blabs all of her biggest secrets to anyone who will listen. "And my _third_ statement is…" she winces her face, staring at the ceiling as if the answer is painted across it. "I switched my major to psychology."

"Oh, _really?_ You're gonna _close_ with that one?" I deadpan. I'm suddenly completely flustered, and I can't get the horrific image of Sam kissing my sister out of my head. Sam turns towards me, an eyebrow raised.

"Which one's the lie, Joshua?" Her tone makes me realize instantly that she's repaying me for all time jibes I got in earlier. _Touché, devil woman._

"Well, _this_ just got a whole lot more interesting!" Mike laughs, then sobers. "But, _wait._ It's Chris' turn to guess," he points out, that shit-eating grin on his face as he sits back, enjoying the game. He looks thoroughly entertained, now – far more than before. Chris takes a step back, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Uh, I kinda think Josh should take this one…" he laughs uncomfortably. In the meantime, Sam's eyes are still burning into me.

"…the sister one?" I croak hopefully, my voice small. Sam just smiles, picks up the shot glass and tips it back to tell me - _without telling me_ \- that I guessed wrong.

 _"Ohhhhhh!"_ Mike and Chris yell at the same time like a couple of baboons, and I wanna simultaneously punch them both in the face.

" _Shuuuuut uuuuup_!" I groan at them, my own face red as I try in vain to get the mental picture to leave my brain. _This girl is going to be the death of me, I'm sure of it._ And don't get me wrong; I can _totally_ see the humor in it. And maybe the thought of Sam makin' out with another girl would be a lot more welcome... but the thought of Sam making out with my sister is just too much for me to take on top of everything else that's happened today – or probably ever. _Moving on._ "Okay, enough about that. Mike's turn," I command, hoping to move the game along.

"I… I don't know what to say," he says as his laughter begins to subside. A more somber look spreads across his face as he thinks.

"Why don't you, uh… tell us why you're drinking?" I suggest, flatly. "That's why we're doing this, right?" I'm not trying to sound so flippant about it, but I'm kinda over this game now. We set out to get him talking and all we've been doing is beating around the bush and learning that Sam played tonsil hockey with a different Washington. I glance at the glaringly ugly block numbers on Mike's microwave and realize it's 9 pm now, and my parents are probably having a shit fit as we speak. Time is now of the essence. "Two true reasons and one lie. _Go."_

"Okay… uh…" his eyes darken and he gives me a bit of a scowl; I don't think he appreciates the pressure I'm putting on him, so he gets snarky and sarcastic. "My first statement is that I am probably drinking because of _you,_ Josh. My second statement is that I'm drinking because I'm haunted by fucking monsters in my head oh… because of _you,_ Josh. And my third statement is that you have _nothing_ to do with why I'm drunk right now, _Josh."_

Direct. To the point. I dig it. _But naaaah._ I feel bad for enough shit I've caused. I'm not going to take the fall for _this_ one. I might have aided in it, but I know better than to let myself feel bad for something I had no control of. And he's not going to get better if he truly thinks that I'm the _only_ reason he's drinking.

"I feel ya, man," I shrug, slapping him on the back. He shies away from me. Doesn't want to be touched. I get that too. "I don't even blame you. I fucked up _big_ time but I'm gonna give you a little bit of tough love here, okay?" I make his eyes meet mine, because I refuse to mince words in this situation. I want to make sure he hears me, because I'm sick of this shit. "Rules of Al-Anon: I didn't _cause_ it, I can't _cure_ it and I can't _control_ it. This is on _you,_ man. YOU chose to handle your stress in this way and I'm sorry that I encroached on your sacred territory today; I will never invade your space like that again, intentionally or not. But this isn't my deal, this is about you."

Mike opens his mouth to interject, to defend his previous statements, but instead he lowers his head a bit before running a frustrated hand through his hair. He nods a bit, his eyes sheepishly rising to gaze at us.

"I know," he says, but it's barely audible. Sam and Chris just standby quietly; I figure if they think I'm being too hard on him, they'd say something. But their lack of intervention makes me feel like maybe I actually did something right here, today.

"We love you, man," Chris says.

"And we're here for you," Sam adds.

"We wouldn't be here on your level if we didn't. But you know that today was about you, right? That's one of the first steps of AA." I say this. He knows. I'm not here to make him feel worse about it.

"I killed your sisters," he finally says. Bingo. We've arrived to our destination. I lean in towards him, my hands on his shoulders before I say something I never thought I'd have the capacity to say.

"Mike...You did NOT kill my sisters. That was not your fault." My eyes flicker to Chris and Sam. All of my best friends are under one roof as we speak. God, I appreciate them all so much. "It was no one's fault. You have got to forgive yourself. We all do," I say, trying my best to not let my voice crack again. God, I miss them. But they aren't gone because of some stupid prank. "Shit happens, Mike. You played a prank. So did I. We are both suffering from the fallout. We're not bad guys."

He's kinda blubbering now, which makes me a little uncomfortable but I totally get it. I offer him a hug, and I'm kinda surprised he takes it. It's a super manly hug, by the way.

"Thanks," He snots into my hoodie. It's cool. I needed to wash it anyway. I give him a few more comforting pats on the shoulder as I pull away. I meet his gaze once more, and this time he has no trouble finding mine.

"You're gonna wake up tomorrow. And you're gonna forgive yourself. And you're gonna get back on that wagon. Because this is doing no one any good, right?" I say. Maybe I should switch my major to psychology. Mike nods, still slightly despondent but seemingly better.

We let the evening wind down; we accomplished what he needed to. Once we have him tucked into bed (er... the couch) we all head for the door to go our separate ways. I give Chris a high five.

"You need a lift?" he offers. I automatically tell him I'm good, I'll hitch a ride with Sam. He gives me a knowing glance, before a nod. "Alright. You two crazy kids be careful, you hear me?" he says, sounding like a dad. I appreciate it- it's not like MY dad and I are on talking terms for now.

"We will," I promise. "We cool?" I ask. It's been a long day and it's hard to keep my friends and enemies straight at his point.

"Yeah," he nods, but it doesn't sound that convincing. I'm waiting for the 'but.'... "As soon as you make things right with Ashley." There it is! I point to my nose, then wave him off. I know. I'll get to her. I have to get to all of them, eventually. Chris turns and walks off before shouting back, "use protection!" before he gets in his car... because he's the most mature person I know.

So, without actually thinking about it, I decide to let Sam drive me home. This is a decision that doesn't make any sense whatsoever by the way. She's had three shots (which isn't _that_ much). She's had some water and seems to be fine to drive… but she's a shitty driver when she's bone sober - so why would driving with tipsy Sam be a good idea whatsoever? As I sit in the front seat, I muse over how on the long list of dumb stuff I've done recently, letting her drive me home instead of Chris is probably one of the worst. But I'm kinda used to her now. It would have felt even weirder _not_ letting her drive me home.

I'm pleasantly surprised, however, to see that her paranoia of getting pulled over has seems to have curbed her reckless driving tendencies, _thank goodness._ She has Spotify on, playing some random indie station. I try to focus in on the music, as to not feel the need to fill the silence with my nonsense, thus pulling Sam away from focusing on the road.

An upbeat song begins.

"I love this song," Sam says to no one, reaching forward and turning the volume knob up. I listen for a bit, and I really dig the beat, so I ask her who it's by, to which she responds, "It's called _Start of Something_ by Voxtrot." I mentally make a note to add it to my playlist when I get home, especially as I hone in on the lyrics.

My head's a little fuzzy, in a good way that makes me forget any woes I might have. In the luster, I glance over at Sam, who is completely unaware of how she looks right now. Her hair is down and slightly disheveled from the long day, her cheeks pink from the whiskey. In the glow of the streetlights, I'm fairly certain she's never looked better. She's been doing that a lot, lately. I suppose that's what happens when you start spending a lot of time together with someone.

Her eyes glace sideways at me, and she gives me a slight smile. _Caught._

"What," she says quietly. I just shrug. I can't tell her what I'm thinking so I face forward and listen to the rest of the song.

_"Oh, take me on back, take me on back, you take me back_

_to the place where I can feel you heart, is this the end or just the start_

_of something really, really beautiful wrapped up and disguised as_

_something really, really ugly…"_

As we turn the corner towards my house, I hope that my parents are already in bed, but I realize that's not the case as I see a cop car parked outside near the driveway. Sam hits the breaks, glancing over at me, nervously.

"I think I'm just gonna get out here," I offer, unclicking my seatbelt. I don't need her to get wrapped up in this, _whatever_ it is. Plus, the fact that she's been drinking just makes it worse. She smiles in appreciation as I get out of the car. I shut the door and turn to walk away when,

"Oh, _Josh?"_ she says suddenly; she's rolled down the passenger window, so I lean in to hear what she has to say. Her smile has turned a little slyer. "I lied during the game tonight."

"We all did," I point out. She giggles and shakes her head.

"No, I mean... I didn't make out with Hannah." I exhale a huge sigh of relief as though a huge weight has been lifted off of me.

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear-" my words cut off when I realize that means that her other two statements were true… including the dream about me. She gives me a little wave.

"Bye, Josh," she says before driving off. As I watch her drive away I try to contain my smile, my stomach feeling all fluttery with butterflies and shit. I don't know how normal people do this kinda stuff. But I have to push these feelings aside for the time being - I'll come back the them later in the privacy of my own room. It's time to deal with the next shitshow of the day.

As I saunter up to the driveway, trying to look as innocent as possible, I can't help but let the uneasiness wash over me. I get closer and see that it is indeed a police officer standing at my front door, his notebook out and jotting things down as my worried parents stand in the doorway of our house. I pause, realizing that they can't see me in the dark. I can't seem to take another step, half-tempted to just turn the other way and start running, never stopping. It's not that I think I'm gonna get in trouble or I'm scared; more so that the look on my mom's face as she describes what she last saw me wearing is just too heartbreaking to face.

That's not an option, though. I have to face them, because disappearing on them would hurt them far worse than disappointing them with my current state. I shove a piece of gum in my mouth, still hoping to shield the smell of alcohol on my breath. I take a brave breath and trudge forward.

As soon as I do, my dad's eyes find me. He throws a hand up, exasperatedly as I near them.

" _There he is_!" my mom says, pushing past the officer to get to me, pulling me in for a hug. "Where were you! We tried calling you!" The image of the phone my parents got me flashes in my head and I realize I left it on my desk in my room. "We were so worried-" she stops speaking and pulls away from me a bit, and I can tell by the look on her face that she can smell it on me. I stare into her eyes, mentally begging her not to give me away, and she seems to understand. She turns towards the cop, who's nearing us and adjusting his belt. He looks like a caricature of a small town cop, it's almost laughable.

"Your parents were worried you may have breached a court order. I need to ask where you've been." My mom steps between the two of us, like a mamabear protecting her cub.

"It's fine, officer. He's home now and that's all that matters-"

"Ma'am, if you'll step aside please." She does as she's told, slowly and timidly, wrapping her arms around herself as she watches us. The cop, a burly man with a mustache shines his flashlight in my eyes. It feels totally intimidating and extremely unnecessary. _Total power trip._ "You mind telling me where you've been today?"

"I... don't know why that is relevant to my court order-" I begin, ever the smartass, but as I look passed his blaring light, I can see my mother shake her head as if to tell me, ' _just answer the question, idiot_.' I wet my lips and give a shrug. "I went to therapy, then I went to an AA meeting at New Horizons Church." He inspects my eyes as I am talking, probably trying to make sure I'm not high. Or lying. Or maybe he just really wants to blind me. It's taking everything out of me not to shove the flashlight away from my face.

"Is that all?"

"No...I went to a cafe. Then I..." I stop. I can't tell them I went to Mike's or that we drank a bottle of whiskey between the three of us (Mike barely got any, so he gets no credit on demolishing that bottle). "...I fell asleep at the park. On accident," I finally say. Melinda's nearing him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Officer, it's been a long night. Can we just forget about this?" she asks. He glances over his shoulder at her, then back at me before heaving a sigh. Investigating this any further would mean paperwork, which I don't think he's too interested in doing at the time. He gives a curt nod before snapping off his flashlight.

"Fine. You have a good night," he says gruffly before tipping his hat and heading back to his squad car. I know as soon as he drives off that Melinda is going to start tearing into me with all of the questions, so I get a jump start on her. I hurry towards the front door as she waves the police officer off.

 _"Josh!"_ she calls after me. I just keep going, hoping I'll make it to the sanctuary of my bedroom before it gets too dramatic. It's no use. She chases after me and catches me in the foyer, trying desperately to meet my gaze, but I can't look her in the eye. I don't want to hurt her. "Where _were_ you?"

"I just told you!" I say, and it comes out ruder than I had anticipated. I don't like being pushed up into the corner, she knows this. She knows it makes me lash out. But I can't blame her.

"That was all true?" she asks, her hands on her hips. Finally, my eyes sheepishly meet hers. Her stern, hard features begin to soften. Why can't she just say it? Why can't she just ask me if I've been drinking? _I know she knows!_ This is always how it's been. Where's dad? Hiding away in his office as to not deal with it. And here's mom. Staring at me in the face and knowing the truth but pretending that she doesn't.

That's part of the problem. I never had a parent call me on my bullshit, so the shit I got away with just grew and grew, as if I was waiting to find what their bottom line was; what was the thing that was going to make them snap and _be_ parents.

_Still, nothing._

She backs down, as usual, pretending like she believes me. It's hopeless. I almost snort at the irony that my mom just wishes I'd talk to her, while my dad refuses to talk to me. I pick up my backpack and hoist the strap over my shoulder.

"I'm going to bed," I mumble. My mom moves to the side, letting me through, letting me off the hook. As she always does.

"O-okay... 'night, honey..." she says quietly, unable to bring her voice up past a whisper. I am about to head up, but instead I lean in and pull her in for a hug, which is rare for me. She falls into it a bit, and I can hear her choke back a sob. _I don't want to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt anyone._

"I love you, mom." _I mean it._

"I love you, too," she whispers back. I don't look at her again before I head up the stairs.

As I enter my room, I don't even get a chance to take a breath before I notice my desk lamp is on and my window is open. This feels especially odd because although this day has felt incredibly long and twisted, I distinctly remember that my window was shut when I left this morning. I shut my bedroom door behind me, dropping my bag to my feet and hope that I'm not losing it or anything; this feels kinda eerie. I approach the window cautiously, grabbing hold of the white molding before I lean out to see if there's anyone down in the yard below.

I survey the back yard. The dark, shadows of trees just sway back at me, sullen ghosts in the moonlight. I half expect the shadows to grow and morph into some kind of monsters. I squint at them, as if I'm daring my brain to see something that isn't there, as though I miss the hallucinations.

"You _really_ need to scrub your toilet," a voice calls out behind me, causing me to jump and smack the back of my head on my window frame. I wait to coddle my wound until after I've turned to see Sam nonchalantly entering my room from my attached bathroom.

"Sam!? What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask. I seriously cannot shake this girl. She ignores my question.

"I'm serious, Josh. It's like a science experiment in there." She ambles towards my closet like she owns the place, without asking, before she pulls out one of my sweaters and pulls it over her head. It's way too big for her, she's absolutely swimming in the thing... and yet I can't deny that it's a good look for her as she curls up into the chair across from me.

"Oh, I'm sorry, your highness! I wasn't aware I'd be having any guests in there." _Rude._ That's beside the point. "What are you doing here?" I ask again, slower, as though she didn't hear me the first time. She gives a little shrug.

"I can't go home _now._ Not with alcohol on my breath. Mary-Beth would have a conniption," she explains, admiring her nails. I don't understand how she's always so bold about everything. _Go hard or go home._ She glances down before she picks up my notebook, which has fallen out of my bag on the floor by her bare feet. She doesn't even have her shoes on, that's how at home she's made herself at this point. I snatch it out of her hands. Tipsy Sam is proving to be slightly more ballsy than sober Sam – and I didn't even know that was possible.

 _"Boundaries,_ Samantha! I don't know how many times we have to discuss boundaries!" I whisper harshly, quickly realizing that I really, _REALLY_ shouldn't have a girl in my room right now. Especially with everything that's already happened with my mom tonight. Can this day just end, already? "You really shouldn't be here, you've gotten me in enough trouble as it is," I declare as I near my bedroom door, trying to listen for any sign that my parents are still awake and walking around the house. I don't hear anything. I see movement from the corner of my eye, and I turn to see that Sam is standing now, an odd look in her eyes. I can't read it. I've never seen it before. "What...are you doing?"

"You should lock the door," she says. She begins nearing me, and I feel nervous and excited and a lot of weird feelings all at once. By the look in her eyes, I can't tell if she's coming to kill me or kiss me. Before I have a chance to realize what I'm doing, I am reaching down to lock my bedroom door at her command. _How the hell does she do that?_

"Sam, what are you-" My words are cut off by lips. More specifically, _her_ lips. On _my_ lips. They are ridiculously soft and coated in some kind of fruity balm... I think. Maybe she just tastes like strawberries. Neither would surprise me. How the fuck... is this happening? This _is_ happening, right? She slips her tongue into my mouth and my eyes pop open. Yup. It's happening. _This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill!_ I'm thinking too much. I'm frigid, kinda scared to move. She pulls away from me, her eyebrows creased into a frown.

"You're not kissing me back," she observes. She's right, I wasn't even moving my lips. _Smooth, dude._ I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She looks completely mortified. "Wow, I must have totally misread you. I thought you'd be into this." My eyes widen.

"You're kinda catching me off-guard here! Wh-what is this? First you are slapping me and... now we're _kissing_?"

"Well, not right this second, we aren't," she snaps, her cheeks red. I feel her grip on me loosen. I don't make _anything_ easy, do I? I stop her and pull her closer to me. I don't want to give her the wrong idea; I _want_ this... I'm just no good at this kinda stuff. She should know that.

"Why did you kiss me?" I ask. She gives a bit of a shrug.

"Well... I mean... it had to happen eventually, right? I just thought I'd alleviate some of the tension, you know... like letting the steam out of the pot." Well. Yeah. I mean, it's not like I haven't noticed the sexual tension steadily building. Sometimes I have a hard time differentiating between hatred and love for her... but that's not why I wanted her to kiss me. I wanted her to kiss me because... well... because she _likes_ me.

What the fuck are you saying? There's a hot girl you've been crazy about for years throwing herself at you and you're concerned she doesn't like you? My scumbag brain is chastising me. I shake the thoughts away, and I can't help but focus in on her intense eyes, deep pools of green like the Atlantic, pulling me in. I lean forward. She stops me.

"I think the moment's passed," she mumbles. _No! No, it can't end like this! Can it?_

"Sam, I'm sorry-"

She pulls away from me, and its is the saddest disconnection I've ever felt, her skin leaving mine. How did I fuck this up so badly?

"It's okay," she says quickly as not to let the awkwardness linger too long. "I mean, I kinda figured I'd try since I'd given you all these opportunities to, but you never did-"

"I want a redo. Let me try again." I am not above begging. She gives me a smile, the faintest of smiles. It's promising, but it's not a green light.

"Next time," she assures. She glances at my bed. "For now, you mind if I crash here?" I look towards my twin bed, noting that it's gonna be a pretty tight fit. _Noooo privacy for Joshy tonight._ But of course I say yes. My door's already locked. I've already risked so much. Why not?

I climb into my bed, scooting up against the wall to leave some space for her...but she's so tiny she doesn't need much. She crawls in next to me, and I realize that I should have maybe unclothed a bit to at least appreciate the feeling of her soft skin against mine. Doesn't matter; she nestles in and I get to spend the evening taking in the smell of her hair. She is snug against me, she looks up at me with a slight smile.

"You can hold me... you know. If you want."

I didn't know I needed an invitation; my arms are already wrapping around her before she even says this to me.

I click off my desk lamp and try to memorize her features in the moonlight; my fearless, gutsy, annoying, horrible Samantha. For a brief second I let myself entertain the idea that she might be mine. Or at least getting there. As I study her face, the curve of her lips in dark, I find myself leaning forward before I press my lips to hers. This is another moment, right? Yeah. I'll take this one. She reaches up, her soft hand resting lazily on my cheek as she takes me in, reciprocating. The other kiss doesn't count. _This_ is our first kiss.

As I take in her scent and her smell, I realize that this day started with therapy, went on to an AA meeting, a coffee house, an ambush, a drunk intervention and avoiding the po-po...

Yeah.

_Today was a good day._

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	9. Beautiful Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DATE-date vs. FRIEND-date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: SORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY. The last couple weeks have been a holiday, gin-induced fog, which gave me writer's block for this fic… but also inspired my new collaborative fic with Enula, called "Twist of Fate." Check it out if you get a chance. Lots of JAM. Read it, follow it, review it or WE ARE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE AND I'll turn this fic into an Emily/Matt centric fic instead. This is your only warning.  
> Special shoutout 'thanks' to IEatBooksForTea for brainstorming with me a bit on this chapter. And of course, Enula for the same. Love you, ladies.  
> Anywhooo...I shoved some funny fluff in this one. It was about time...

**Monster In Me**

_An Until Dawn Fanfiction_

* * *

**Chapter Nine:**

_Beautiful Girl_

_a.k.a._

_Before You Go On A Date With A Beautiful Girl, Make Sure It's A Date_

* * *

Not unlike most cheesy 90's movies, I wake up the next morning and expect that Sam is long gone, presumably slipping out of my room the way she'd entered: the open window. How she learned to scale buildings in the cloak of night like Batman on a regular basis, I will never know.

Instead, she's drooling into the pillow beside me, her hair a tangled mess in her face, and I swear on all that is holy there might not be anything cuter in the damn world. And her breath is hor- _rific_. Just _awful_ … but like, at the same time… _good_ awful, if that makes any sense at all? (Maybe it's smell compatibility?) Is it possible to like her even _more_ after seeing her in all her messy, imperfect, snoring glory?

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

My bed has never felt smaller, and I can feel the aching in my neck from sleeping on it wrong -it's totally worth it but still hurts like a _sonofa.._. She's all pressed up pretty close to me and well… let's just say there's this involuntary _thing_ that happens to guys while they are asleep and I'm trying my best to think of baseball or anything other than the way the sun is currently dancing on the smoothness of her shoulder. (Apparently she took my sweater off sometime during the night, so now I am seeing a whole lotta Sam).

 _Oh right_ … last night. We _definitely_ kissed. And I definitely ruined it at first, but then I got a second shot. And because I am a total and complete gentleman and not one to take advantage of a situation, that is all we did _thank you very much_...

_...God, she's beautiful like this though._

So much so that '' _Beautiful Girl'_ ' by Hedley pops into my head and I find myself quietly humming the tune.

_Beautiful girl, beautiful girl, you don't wanna fuck with me_

_Beautiful girl, stay on my world, nothin' but a tragedy._

She stirs a bit, the friction of her thigh rubbing up roughly against me and I can assure you that it's not helping my situation _at all_. I should probably wake her up or something, but instead I find myself brushing the golden hair from her face, tracing down the curve of her cheek with my finger. This proves to be the wrong move when she opens her eyes and startles, slapping me away out of instinct.

"Ow!" I hiss, " _WHAT?_ " Once she begins to come to, she instantly starts to laugh a bit, relaxing as she covers her face with her hand and groans.

"You scared the _shit_ outta me," she sighs.

"I sure hope you're being figurative, because I'm not really into that, Sammy…" I say dryly "I mean, unless _you_ are. I could maybe come around to the idea…" She just ignores me. Probably a good idea, I am a lunatic. Sam moans as she rolls over, and she's probably not even trying to be erotic but the sound triggers something in me anyway. She looks at my alarm clock on the nightstand next to us before rolling back over, rubbing her eyes as she gives a cute little yawn with a ridiculously adorable squeak at the end.

"We slept in," she says quietly, her voice still raspy from the sleep caught in her throat, and I am holding back an uncontrollable urge to lean in and kiss her again (if I'm being honest, the urge is actually for something a lot more than kissing, but that's not important). As she stares up at me, the tension between us heavy, pulling like a magnet. I wonder if she's remembering what happened last night, or if she's thinking about it now as much as I am, while my head is clear.

Her big eyes are roaming my face now, and I can't read her expression. I wanna knock her head open and sift through the contents because I never know what's going on in there - and also, thoughts like that are why I'm required to take meds so I don't actually _act_ on them. And I'm quite aware that if she knew _that_ was going on in my head right this second, she'd probably be running for the hills.

_Why are you still here? I'm no good, Sammy._

I _wanna_ say it, but it seems like a total bummer thing to say, and rule number one of snatching up ladies is to at least come across as a confident person (rule number two is sweep all your crazy under a rug until at least the fourth date, but I've already blown that one).

Her hand reaches up, she's wordlessly tracing circles into my chest, the smallest smile on her lips. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna kiss her again, while we're sober. Never in this world was there a mouth so needing to be kissed than the one in front of me at this very moment. I wet my dry lips with my tongue a bit and find my hand cradling the angelic features of her face, resting on her jaw. Her eyes are inviting, there's nothing about her demeanor that makes me feel like this isn't the best idea I've ever had. I lean in, she's receptive, our lips barely grazing and I think I might explode and then-

_jigglejigglejiggle_

My eyes pop open and so do Sam's, our breath swiped from our lungs as I see the handle to my bedroom door moving - thank god she told me to lock it last night.

"Josh?" It's my mom...who definitely removed that lock months ago before I found it in the basement a few days ago reinstalled it. Ya know. Just in case. "Joshua, open this door."

"I'm… naked, mom!" I yell out, literally shoving Sam out of my bed and onto the floor out of fear or instinct. Because I'm super smooth, and that's always what you do when you wake up with a gorgeous woman in your bed. She's quickly picking up her clothes now, shoving her foot in a boot and hopping around.

" _Joshua Gaylen Washington_ , you open this door right now!" she yells. _Jeez, Melinda, relax with yourself._ Also, thanks for giving me the worst middle name on earth and then saying it in front of my dream girl. Sam shoots me a look, her eyes narrowing and a wry smile on her lips.

" _Gaylen_?" I put my finger up and clench my jaw. Now is _not_ the time. She giggles quietly as she tosses her belongs out my window, watching them flutter to the ground below. She turns towards me. "Dinner tonight?" Sam whispers at me as I'm pushing her towards the window, trying to shove her out. Because that's the only logical thing to do in this situation, right? "Meet me at my house at 6!" she instructs.

"Fine, whatever, _go_!" I snap and I watch Sam pretty much slide down my drain pipe like it's a friggin' firepole. _What a psychopath._ I trip and fall over my own feet as I hurry towards my bedroom door, unlatching it to see mommy dearest on the other side, her arms crossed and her face less than thrilled. " _Melinda_ ," I greet with a casual nod, even though I'm clammy and outta breath. She pushes past me, inspecting my room for drugs or sharp objects or whatever. I catch a glimpse of my guilty, red face in the mirror.

"It's _mom_ ," she corrects. She hates when I call her Melinda. "And what was that door doing locked?" she asks angrily. Then she shakes her head, her hands running through her thick, black hair. "Nevermind, you know what? I don't have time for this. Your father and I need to leave in just a while and after the little stunt you pulled last night I am freaking out, here!" I don't know what to say to her. She's right. I am not to be trusted, especially when Sam is involved. She sighs, nearing me and placing a hand on each shoulder, gently giving me a shake. "You need to promise me that you're going to stay outta trouble," she insists almost desperately, her eyes full of apprehension. I give her a slight shrug, unable to keep eye contact.

"Sure," I mumble, "no big deal." She grabs ahold of my face and turns it towards her.

"No! _Promise_ me, Joshua," she demands, her face uncomfortably close to mine, forcing me to look at her. I kinda feel bad for her, all the shit I've put her through. She can't even leave her 21-year-old son alone without having a panic attack. I really should try to be better for her.

"I promise, mom," I finally say, and I sincerely intend to keep it. She exhales, relief washing over her features before she gives me a closed-lip smile before a kiss on the cheek. I promptly wipe it off - too much lipstick. She pulls me in for a brief hug.

"There's enough food for a few days and money for pizza if you need it. Also, I didn't wanna have to do this but Mrs. Garretson next door has strict orders to watch out for any funny business around here, so I'd be careful if I were you." Ugh, of _course_ Mrs. Garretson agreed to that… such a nosey old hag. Looks like I'll be having to pull some " _Home Alone"-esque_ stunts with cardboard cutouts if I feel like sneaking out the back.

"There will be _zero_ funny business," I assure.

Finally satisfied, Melinda leaves. I find myself in the loud, heavy silence of my bedroom, finally able to try to figure out just what's bouncing around inside the walls of my head.

I yawn, stretch, and fall back into my bed (which seems huge now) as I attempt to piece together the fragments of the night before still tattered and scattered around in my head. I am having a hard time remembering it all, although I don't think it was so much the booze as much as the fact that so much happened in such a short amount of time. I suddenly wonder how Mike's doing. And Chris. It is an incredibly odd feeling, considering I didn't even _have_ friends to care/worry about even two days ago.

Oh, and then I remember what Sam said before almost getting shoved out my window and plummeting to her untimely death: we have dinner plans tonight.

Which would be fine if they were just dinner plans, but now we're on this step above friendship where apparently it's okay to stick my tongue in her mouth and like… _is_ this a date? I scratch my head, feeling utterly conflicted about this. Am I supposed to dress up or pay for her meal or pick out a nice restaurant? It goes without saying that I've gone on a few dates in my day, but this is the first time I wasn't sure if it even _was_ a date.

I could do the obvious thing, just shoot Sam a quick text message. ' _Yo. We datin' or wut?_ ' _Buuuuutttt_ …. something about that seems really lame and weird. While I _am_ both of those things, I've been trying to convince Sam that I am not. So, I do what I normally would have done before all this crazy shit went down. I pull out my superspy phone and punch in 10-digits, (memory like an elephant) and Chris picks up after two rings.

" _Hello_?" he asks, and he almost doesn't sound like himself, all proper and whatnot. He used to answer my calls with ' _sup, loser?'_

"I actually thought you'd be one to screen your calls," I muse. There's a long silence before,

"This your new number?"

"Technically, I'm not supposed to have it. So don't call it. I call you. Just like Charlie's Angels." No laughter, just a brief pause. "Hello?"

"What's up, Josh?" he asks, and he only sounds a little bit put off. I forgot that he and Ash had moved in together; I wonder if she knows he's talking to me.

"I need help with something," I say, biting onto my thumbnail anxiously. "As you may know, I haven't been in the whole dating world for a long time-"

" _Stacey Jameson,_ " Chris recalled, a girl I dated well before my sisters went missing. It was short-lived and she stole my toothbrush when we broke up.

"Right. So like, Sam stayed the night last night-"

"I _knew_ there was somethin' goin' on there," he chuckled, delighted in himself for sleuthing that one out. I didn't have time to congratulate him on figuring out the obvious.

"Right. And so, nothing happened but we did kiss and this morning when I was pushing her out my window she said we should do dinner tonight and pick her up at 6 but like we have spent tons of time together lately but this is the first time since after we made out and I am not sure if it's a date or not…" Long pause. His wheels are turning.

" _Sounds_ like a date," he finally says. "Although, how do you intend on picking her up? You lost the jeep." Now I'm feeling super anxious, because I generally fuck up when I'm around her and it's not a date, this can only go one way for me… and unlike girls I've dated in the past, I actually care about making an ass of myself. I've done that around Sam enough by now.

"I know that. I just plan on walking over there...but like… what should I _do_?" I ask him, which is funny because I've never had a problem with the ladies. I'm not as suave as _Mike_ but I've _definitely_ bagged myself a 6 or 7 a time or two. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam is a straight 11 in my book - blonde, sarcastic, prone to crushes on psychopaths _and_ she likes scary movies (at least, she used to. I'm not sure if my stunt on the mountain cured her of that or not, however.) Plus… oh god. Don't get me started on the yoga pants.

"I dunno, man… just like… take her to the _boom-room_ or whatever-"

" _Christopher_!" I gasp. "How dare you insinuate such a thing? Firstly, it is the _bone-zone._ And secondly, that is no way to talk about my sweet, sweet Samantha," I scold. "Thirdly, the _boom-room_? Where did you come up with that? I… _don't_ actually hate it." I can't help but laugh. I can hear him chuckle lazily on the other end.

"Oh, so I can't talk about Sam that way but you can tell me to take Ashley to the bone-zone?"

"I would never say something like that about a beautiful, delicate cherub like Ashley," I assure, and I can almost actually hear him roll his eyes. He starts to respond, but my attention span has moved on. "But like... should I dress nice or something?"

"I mean… shave your pubes at _least_ -"

"Done." His laugh makes my chest feel light, and I realize how much I've missed my best friend, even if I am having to shove my wormy little way back into his life - _resistance is futile, Christopher._ "Deodorant? Is that your next pro-tip?"

"You? _No way_. Let her enjoy your manly, natural musk. It turns girls on, I hear." His laughter fades and he groans a bit, mulling on the original question at hand. "I _dunno_... Sam's a pretty _casual_ girl… laid back. So, I'm sure she won't care if you keep it _cas_. You're not even sure if this is a date or not, so… don't like rent a tux or anything."

"Don't rent a tux. Got it. Good talk, bro," I plop back down on my bed. "So…. tuxedo t-shirt, then?"

" _See?_ You got this! It doesn't even seem like you need my help," he jokes, and I've noticed that I've found myself laughing more over the last 5 minute conversation with Chris than I have for the last year and a half.

"You are _literally_ the least helpful wingman in the world," I mutter, getting up and sifting through my closet.

"Dude, why would you think _any_ differently? I was friendzoned for _years_. My first real date with Ashley was partially spent at the Apple store so I could get the new iPhone." He paused, more than likely reflecting on his own sentence. "Wow. I'm lucky I haven't sent her running and screaming already."

"You really should hold onto her. I'm not too certain anyone else will ever love you. Except me, of course."

" _Cold_ , Washington," he says, but before I can respond I can hear him talking to someone else, a female voice. I can faintly hear bits and pieces, I briefly hear a woman ask ' _who is that?_ ' and Chris stammers a bit before I can hear him lie, ' _just...uh…. Mike._ ' After a few more indiscernible moments and a ruffling sound on the other end of the line, Chris returns. "Sorry about that." I am kinda torn between feeling slightly offended and totally piecing it all together before I even have to say anything to him.

"I'm actually Josh," I correct facetiously, trying to start a dialogue about why Chris is suddenly lying about me but also trying not to sound like a lil bitch.

"Yeah, I…" Chris says, his voice is almost pained. "Look, I'm sorry dude. I just… I haven't told Ash yet and-"

"About what?"

"About the fact that you and I are talking again and… I mean… I _told_ you. I can't really have things be normal between us until you make things right with Ash, ya know?" I kinda wanna act like a baby right now, stomp my feet and pout that I was there first but… no. I totally understand. That's what best friends are supposed to do, right? Hoes before bros... _this time._

So as the day drags on, I find myself getting more and more nervous. Instead of doing anything to get myself psyched up more and dwelling on the impending evening, I take one of my pills and I zone out into a zombie-filled video game instead. Before I know it, 6 hours have passed and it's time to actually start getting ready for my date … _er…_ whatever this is.

I keep thinking about how she's basically stalked me over the course of the last few days, but this time she's having me meet her at her house to 'pick her up' (how one is to do that without a car is beyond me but still…).

Still, I think about what Chris said and decide to keep it casual. In all my years of knowing Sam, I've never really seen her all dolled up, save for school dances and such. She has good taste and always looks pretty cute, kinda quirky, but she's always dressed for herself and not for others. She can rock a pair of Nikes and athletic pants, though, that's for sure.

I play it safe and opt for a pair of jeans, a random old black T-shirt with some writing on it and a button-up, just to kinda change it up from the hoodie she's seen me only existing in for days.

Soon, it's teetering dangerously close to 6 pm and I've taken enough time to try to get my head on straight - this is the best I'm gonna get today. I grab my wallet and stuff it in my back pocket before I head out… but not without stopping at a convenience store to buy a slurpee.

Sam doesn't live too far away from me, and I'm at her house just after 6 which is not late enough to make a bad impression - I was actually notoriously known for being late to everything in high school. I even slept through my SATs - I personally blame the meds. They make me drown things out when I get loopy.

I walk up and knock on her front door, hearing my heartbeat thumping in my ears and wringing together my sweaty palms like a scheming movie villain - why do I feel so nervous? I hang out with Sam all the time now, we've even kissed! Nerves should be out of the way... ' _Did I forget to put on deodorant?'_ I wonder as I lift my left arm to check just as the front door swings open. I retract my arm quickly but the look on Sam's face shows me that I was caught anyway.

"Uh… hi," she says with a sly smile and narrowed eyes, and I know she saw me checking my armpit.

And she looks fucking gorgeous, of course. She's way more dressed up than me; black tights and a nice blouse, a few necklaces dangling down and heels - I've never seen her in heels. Her hair is actually down for once and I realize just how long it's gotten as it flows down her shoulders in waves. She's even got those dangly little earrings in her ears. _Fucking Chris. 'Keep it cas_.' I feel like an idiot.

_(DATE-date: 1 vs. FRIEND-date: 0)_

"You uh… you got something on your shirt?" Sam notes, gesturing towards the front of me. I glance down to see that somewhere along the way I got red slurpee spilled on me and it's dotted down the front of my cheap, button up shirt.

"Oh, _goddamn i_ t," I say gruffly under my breath, swiping my hand across the stain as though by some miracle I can just wipe it off. Of course I cannot.

"No, it's okay just uh… just take it off? You've got something on underneath that shirt, right?" she asks, reaching forward and gently tugging at the black collar of my T-shirt under my button up.

"No, it's not-" Before I can finish her hands have snaked out and she's nimbly unbuttoning my shirt. I am too mesmerized by the look of concentration in her eyes and the intimacy in her movements to stop her, She pulls my button-up open, her eyes honing in on the words printed in white on the black fabric.

"I'm with stupid," she reads aloud, slowly. There's also an arrow pointing down towards my crotch. When I bought the shirt at Spencer's two years ago seemed hilarious but right now I'm feeling quiet sheepish about it. "With an arrow," she adds, her voice lifting in such an understanding, comforting way, but still she scrunches up her face and starts buttoning my shirt back up. "Maybe let's just keep this on, actually."

"It was the only clean black t-shirt I had," I excuse myself, robotically. She rolls her eyes with a smile.

" _Somehow_ , I don't doubt that," she deadpans before reaching onto a table next to her front door and grabbing a wallet or something… it's a small, shiny thing. I'm not really a pro at these kinda things (Although I still stand by my opinion that Emily's bag was atrocious). "Ready to roll? Where are we going?" she asks. I would have been completely caught off guard had I not sat on Yelp for a while trying to find anything local that was actually vegan. Being a philly cheesesteak and pizza lover myself, I cannot express what a sacrifice that is.

"You heard of _Vedge_?" Her eyes light up a bit before she gives a little shrug.

"Ohhh, that place is fancy," she sings with a little elbow nudge - much softer than her nudges before and her half-lidded, batting eyelashes give me the distinct feeling that she might be trying to flirt with me. I just shove my hands in my jean pockets and face forward. Why does it suddenly feel so forced and weird?

_(DATE-date: 2 vs. FRIEND-date: 0)_

We get in her car and she drives us there.

_(DATE-date: 2 vs. FRIEND-date:1)_

Turns out, I probably shoulda called ahead and made reservations. Who would have thought there were so many hipsters in the area just dying to eat grassroot and dirt tacos? After the wait, we finally get seated toward the back of the restaurant, near the kitchen, but not before the snobby, gay host eyes me up and down and deems my soiled shirt unsuitable for sitting with the general public. _Whatever._

We get seated and I'm kinda starting to panic because Sam and I really aren't talking, which makes me wanna fill the silence but because it's appearing I'm on a DATE-date, I am too nervous. This is so unlike me. I miss going on dates with girls I didn't really care about - and I miss just hanging out with Sam without the stigma hanging over our head.

"Dude, you're acting kinda weird," she observes, reaching down to take a sip of her mint-cucumber water (gross) and smoothes out her biodegradable, recycled napkin across her lap (OKAY, we get it. This place is green). Also, she called me _dude_.

_(DATE-date: 2 vs. FRIEND-date: 2)_

It actually kinda relaxes me. She asks me if I remembered my pill today and I said I had. She's starting to look a little disappointed that I'm so clammed up. She finally sighs, "do you wanna talk about it?" My eyes widen. I'm pretty sure that's the last thing I wanna do right now.

"Sam, it's okay we don-"

"Look, I never would have done that if I knew it was going to make you so uncomfortable. I shouldn't have kissed you-"

"No, Sam it's not that," I blurt, feeling incredibly awkward but knowing I need to just push through it. I exhale, trying not to sound like a moron. "I liked that," I admit. "I just don't want things to be weird between us."

She smiles, a genuine one, (one of the ones I like) and it makes me feel normal for a minute, like I might actually stand a chance with her without fucking this up. She opens her mouth and I brace myself, I really wanna hear what she has to say, but before she can speak-

" _Hiiiii,_ my name's Noell, I'll be your server tonight," a frail, gaunt-looking hippie chick with dreads comes up. I can't help but stare in horror at the disgusting mass of dead hair on her head. It literally looks like roadkill and I'm almost losing my appetite (Although, skimming the menu left much to be desired anyway). "Do you have any questions or would you like to hear about the locally and organically grown vegetables and their journey from the ground to your plate?"

" _God_ no," I snort. Sam kinda shoots me a glare, but it has a bit of a smiley aftertaste. "Um… yeah. I guess my only question is how you can have a bean sprout quesadilla _without_ cheese?" She scoffs and gives me an eyeroll. _Smug little witch._

"It's a _vegan_ cheese. It's a tapioca-based flour, pressed safflower oil with no GMOs, no soy, no gluten, no dairy-"

"No shit," I breathe, shaking my head as I stare back down at the menu. This is gonna be quite an adventure. "Um… I'm just gonna go with the highly praised vegan beet pesto pizza," I decide. It's the only thing on yelp that looked edible to me.

"It's all vegan, you don't have to say vegan beet pesto pizza," she murmurs, and I am not liking her attitude. _Someone_ doesn't want a very good tip.

"I'll have the red curry," Sam decides, handing her menu to the server. She stomps off, hating her life, and I don't blame her because I would hate my life if I never got to enjoy a bleu cheese burger once in awhile.

But now that she's gone I kinda wish she'd come back, because I'm sitting across from Sam with no idea what's going through her head and she seems to be eyeing me and thinking the exact same thing.

"I don't want this to be weird," I spit out and she nods. "Let's not make this weird, let's just act like the kiss never happened and see where the night takes us," I suggest. Sam likes that idea, she raises her glass and we cheers silently, hoping that we will be able to actually pull that off.

"You're a good kisser," she blurts out, and she looks relatively surprised as she says this. So, no. Apparently we're not gonna be able to pull this off. "I mean, when you actually move your lips and use your tongue and stuff…" I flush a bit, rubbing my hands roughly against my face.

"Sam, you're doing the opposite of _not_ talking about it," I point out, and she just smiles, leaning forward on her elbows (horrible table manners, Sammy.) "...but thank you," I add, trying to keep my face straight. "You're not half-bad yourself."

"Fine, we won't talk about it anymore," she promises, locking her mouth with her fingers and tossing away an invisible key. I haven't seen that since an Olsen twin movie or something, what a dork. "We can talk about the fact that you snore like a lawn mower, how about that?" I nearly choke on my (gross) mint-cucumber water. "It's _baaaaad_ ," she giggles.

"Oh _yeah_? Well, I wasn't gonna tell you this but your breath literally smells like you ate shit when you wake up."

_Told my date her breath smells like she ate shit… smooth one, Casanova._

_(DATE-date: -100 vs. FRIEND-date: 3)_

Sam's laughing hard though, her face all red and I can see all of her teeth and I can't remember the last time I saw her laugh like that, an adorable mixture of being called out and embarrassed but also blissful and accepting of her imperfections… _god she is gorgeous._

"That's _so_ mean," she gets out between breathy laughter. She starts to calm, her face relaxing. "And yet, even with my horrible breath you still wanted to kiss me this morning," she teases. I'm starting to feel better, it's beginning to feel a little less weird and I find that I didn't flinch when she brought up the kissing again, already. "Why are you so mean, Joshie?"

"I'm not I'm…. _flirting._ "

"Oh, is that what that is?"

"Yeah, Sam. Didn't you ever pay attention in elementary school? Guys are mean to you when they like you." I'm not lying. She will bare my insane children one day and we'll end up taking over the world with them. Before she can tell me she likes me too (I can see it in her eyes), our server Miss Sunshine reappears and plops our food down onto the table.

"Anything else I can get you?" she asks, but she's already walking away before we can answer. I look down at my beet pesto pizza, the sauce is literally magenta-pink, the whole thing looks a little off-putting. Sam's red curry just basically looks like diarrhea (in Vedge's defense, most curry looks like diarrhea to me).

I take a bite. I spit it out. There's just no way. And I'm a trooper, guys. I'll eat anything, but this was quite a disappointment.

"You want some of mine?" she offers, extending a spoon in my direction but I can't get over my previous comparison to excrement so I just shake my head no.

"I guess I'm just not that hungry," I say, my stomach instantly gurgling to let her know I am a dirty, _dirty_ liar among my long list of undesirable traits. I pick up a slice of my pizza and drop it back down onto the plate with a soggy plop. "This food is the food that my food eats," I quip.

"Oh, _please_. That's not even original," Sam challenges with a cavalier wave of her hand. She's right. I'm pretty sure I saw that on a T-shirt or a bumper sticker or something. "But _yeahhhh…._ This place isn't that good," Sam admits with a cute crinkle of her nose. She looks apologetic. "I'm sorry, Josh. I know how much food means to you."

"You didn't pick the place," I laugh.

"I know but I know you picked this place for me… And it was very sweet of you."

"What can I say? I'm a sweet guy." I lean back in my chair, looking around the room at all the happy customers, wondering if they've been body-snatched or brainwashed or something. This place blows. "How about we just pay and get outta here?" I offer, taking out my wallet. I open it and…

_fuck._

I left my card at the 7-eleven when I got a slurpee. Because of course I did. And now I have to turn to Sam and ask her to pay for our disgusting, untouched meals.

(DATE-date: -2,000 vs. FRIEND-date: 4)

Sam's eyes darken, a look of pure rebellion falling over her. She leans forward on her crossed arms. I don't even need to tell her about not having my card, something tells me she doesn't intend on paying.

"Wanna just get outta here?" she suggests. I swallow, hard. It's so tempting. This place sucks and the waitress was a real peach and it's totally something that Josh Washington would be known to do but… I've pushed so many boundaries lately and-

Before I can even respond, Sam is casually standing, slowly, before she picks up her wallet and begins to stroll back towards the bathroom, where I can clearly see an exit sign for the back alley. She leans against the door, raising her eyebrows, before pushing forward and disappearing out into the darkness of the backlot.

 _Shitshitshitshit._ I mean, it's okay. Because I couldn't have left with her, that would have been too obvious.

Just… keep calm, Josh. You used to be a pro at this, no big deal. I begin to stand when I notice Miss Sunshine looking over at me. She starts heading my way I sit back down, I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.

"Everything okay over here?" she asks slowly, accusingly… or maybe that's all just in my head. Because I am guilty as shit. I just nod, attempting to take another bite of the 'pizza', but I retch a bit. She looks pissed and still pretty suspicious but she leaves to go spread her happiness to another lucky table.

_This is it. Gonna do it._

Without another thought, and because I've never been too good at being subtle, I stand and give a little stretch, eyeing the patrons around me who are all engorged on their shame-free meals. _No one is looking. This is your chance_. I turn towards the exit in the back that Sam just went out - it's only a few feet away but it seems to stretch before me, the exit sign seemingly so far away. Pretty sure I haven't ran in years but, here we go…

I book it, and due to being the most unlucky person in the world, I knock over my metal chair onto the concrete floor with a loud crash behind me, but I don't look back to see everyone notice as I am already pushing through the big grey door and out into the cool freedom of the back alley. I can hear someone yell after me, but I don't stop to see who or what. I just grab Sam (waiting patiently for me) by the arm and keep running; she struggles to keep up with me in those stupid heels and I'm half tempted to throw her tiny frame over my shoulder and keep running, but instead I shove her into the bushes nearby, jumping in beside her.

"What did you do?" she hisses a whisper at me. I see some dude in an apron crash out the back door of the restaurant, looking around for any sign of us. I slink back into the bushes, pulling Sam with me. Our bodies are close, my arm draped protectively around her as she hides her face into my shirt. It's oddly intimate, hiding away from danger with her. Never really got a chance to experience that with her on the mountain.

The man paces back and forth a bit before cursing under his breath and giving up, heading back towards the back door.

"Is he gone?" Sam whispers, her hot breath permeating into my chest through the fabric of my shirt. I inhale what feels like the first breath I've taken in forever and I catch a whiff of her hair… it's so fragrant and nice… I just wanna stay like this a little longer.

"Not yet," I lie, and I feel her fingernails dig into me as she pulls herself closer to me. After a moment, she slowly lifts her chin, her eyes meeting mine, and all the weirdness and uncertainty seems to just melt away. I lean down, my lips brushing against hers and she emits the tiniest sound, as though it were involuntary. She presses forward, adding more pressure, and I can distinctly taste her chapstick on my lips. It's intoxicating. With no warning she slips her tongue into my mouth, and I feel like I want to devour her whole. My hands are in her hair now, her hands are gripping onto me tightly and pulling me closer to her and I have a really, _really_ good feeling about this.

_(DATE-date: +100,000,000,000 vs. Friend-date: 0)_

_How can I stand next to you all alone and do nothing at all?_ _It starts in my hands, straight to my bones, head spinning when you fall_

 _With my heart safe and sound, I stay and my feet on the ground, I say '_ _I've never been higher, let the world catch fire'_

_Living, loving, I stay_

* * *

_To Be Continued…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: SO sorry guys this just got way too long and I haven't updated in so long, it was important for me to get something out to you guys. The Date(?) pt II continues, soon. Don't forget to leave a review!
> 
> p.s. No Vegans were harmed in this fic.


	10. Age of Consent

 

_______________________________________________________________

**Chapter Ten:**

_Age of Consent_

_a.k.a._

_Part Two of the Craziest, Best/Worst First Date of All Time_

______________________________________________________________________________________

 

Soooo… _yeah_.

I know that making out in the bushes seems all sappy and romantic and all, and most rom-coms would have you believe that you get out of the bushes all clean and put together, but this isn’t hollywood (which is something I’ve had a hard time differentiating throughout most of my life, trying to make my life mimic art). In reality, there is a real, genuine struggle to get out of the bushes, the twigs and branches clinging onto the fabric of my button down like incredibly weak arms attempting to pull me back. There are bark chips in my socks that I have to dig out, and when we are free and clear, I have to smack a spider from a panicking Sam’s hair. For such an animal enthusiast, she sure wanted that thing dead.

_Ahhh, romance._

It’s especially cute watching her attempt to fish loose leaves and bark chips from her underwear (we’ve _definitely_ reached a whole ‘nother level of intimacy at this point). There are scratches up and down my back that sting a bit, and not the good kinda sex-scratches you hear about in movies - the ones that you fear might get infected and throw you into septic shock. She turns to me, giving a deep sigh, but she still seems to have stars in her eyes while she looks at me so I have a feeling that we are still a-go for the rest of our date.

_Ohhh, yes. There’s more...I just have no idea what that is, yet._

Luckily, we didn’t park right in front of Vedge, so we don’t have to risk getting caught by the waitstaff to go retrieve it. We make our way back to Sam’s car and get in, without a clear idea of where we are gonna go from here. I can sense neither of us wanna call it a night, though. My stomach grumbles in agreement.

“Well… _now_ what?” I ask, because I don’t have the balls to say something _supercool_ like “Hey, I really like you and I want more time to put _my_ mouth on _your_ mouth… any suggestions?” I also don’t wanna be that skeezy guy who instantly invites his date back to his place. _I know, I know._ She already slept in my bed just last night and has been sneaking in and out of my room for days, (and my parents are outta town) but with the extra vigilance from Mrs. Garretson on my house for now, it just seems a little too risky this early in the evening…. but it’s not totally off the table.

“ _Bowling_ ?” she suggests with a bit of a grimace and a half-hearted shrug, and I scoff. In her face. You know, like you’re supposed to do to your date. (No?) Somehow, I _knew_ she was gonna say that. And now I have to go off on a rant.

 “What is it with people and _bowling_ ?” I sigh. “I just don’t get it - it’s literally the worst. And it’s always this, like, _magical_ suggestion that everyone is always down for but I need to be honest: I think bowling is totally lame, Samantha.” She’s chuckling now, nodding in agreement. “I’ll be so bold to say that I _hate_ bowling.”

 “You’re right. It’s like, people only suggest bowling because there’s literally nothing else they can think of-”

 “ _Exactly_!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up.

 “Alright, ixnay on the bowling,” she agrees with a definitive nod and a thumbs up. What a dork. “ _Got it_. Then… I am just gonna start driving and we’ll see where the night takes us,” she reasons, turning the ignition and cranking the wheel, pulling out right in front of a black SUV without watching.

 “ _Jesus_ , Samantha!” I shout, but my words are drowned out by the long, angry honk from the other car. “Let’s not have the night take us to the hospital, ‘kay?”

 “No promises,” she quips, stomping heavily on the gas and lurching the death wagon forward with a jolt. When we get married one day I am going to have to be rich just to afford a chauffeur for this little  lunatic. That’s my responsibility as a husband _and_ a man.

We drive around a bit, the radio cranked high with the upbeat “ _Age of Consent”_ by New Order playing out loudly - I’m happy that the weather is mild so we’ve got the windows down and it kinda feels like I’m in a dream. As I glance to my left, I cannot deny how simply and undeniably happy I feel. I wasn’t expecting this. Any of it. I mean, Sam and I had _always_ had a connection. My eyes are carefully tracing her features in the darkness with each passing streetlight, trying to remember the exact point that she’d switched from my little sister’s ballsy little friend to… Sammy.

  _My Sammy_.

 And wow, it feels so weird to be having these girly, heart and rainbow feelings swishing around inside of me. It’s weird. Unnatural.

“Hey, Sam?” I call out over the wind and the music. She reaches forward and lowers the music in response. “When did you realize that you liked me?” I know. Like, literally one of the least-cool things I could ask her, because it definitely makes me look clingy and not aloof like I’m so keen to but… curiosity has gotten the better of me, and I genuinely don’t think I’ll ever sleep without knowing the answer to this question. Why me? What did a crazy bastard like me do to get so lucky to get to entertain the idea of touching her boobs. I feel my smile grow with hers, and she looks like she might even be blushing.

 “What do you mean?” she asks, suddenly shy. _Yeah, right, Sammy. I see right through you._ She’s stalling. She knows exactly what I am asking her.

 “Like, at what point did you look at me and think, ‘ _wow… that Joshua… he’s soooo sexy. I must have him_ -” My impression of her leaves much to be desired. Her head falls back with a loud, _‘Ha_!’ but I’m glad she is keeping her eyes on the road. She shakes her head as she continues to chortle.

 “I’m not sure that’s the _exact_ terminology I used…” she informs me, her eyebrows pulled together in slight offense. “And _certainly_ not in that voice.”

 “What’s wrong with the voice?!” Now it’s my turn to be offended. How rude.

 “ _Everything_!” She laughs. Whatever. I’m moving on.

 “Well, I mean, some variation of that. ‘ _He’s so dreamy and perfect and I wanna stick my tongue down his throat_ -”

 “Hmm, not that one either, but nice try.” She’s a tough one to crack tonight. “But if you’re asking when I first realized I had a little, _teeeeensie-tiny_ crush on you…” her words taper off as she reflects in her head.

 “Well, you don’t have to say it like that,” I pout, sour grapes. She offers me a quick, sideways glance and a knowing smile.

 “It was probably this one time when I caught you air guitaring in your kitchen while you were supposed to be doing the dishes. And at one point you dropped a pizza roll on the ground, but you just picked it up at ate in anyways.”

 “ _That’s_ the moment? _That’s_ what we get to tell our grandkids?” I exclaim. “Sam, that is awful!” She’s laughing even harder now. “Was it at least a good song?” I ask; I can only hope there’s one aspect of this story that makes it slightly less horrifying.

 “I’m pretty sure it was Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley.” Well, then I have no regrets at all. That song is amazing. Nothing like figuring out that her crush began with me literally Rick Rolling her.

 “How did you keep your hands off me?

 “What can I say? I was entranced with your reckless abandon,” she sighs dreamily between chuckles. “You never play by anyone’s rules, Josh. You are always so wonderfully... _weird._ And I guess… yeah. I guess I dig it.” I press my lips together and give a slow nod. Okay. I can live with it. “Your sisters thought I was nuts, though. They definitely didn’t see the appeal,” she adds. I’m a little appalled.

 “Well, I should hope not, Samantha. They were related by blood, after all…” Huh. The word ‘were’ leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Can’t say I cared for it too much.

 “What about you?” she says quickly, spitting it out before she can change her mind.

 “When did I realize I was sexy? Baby, I was born this way-”

 “Oh, _quit_ it, Lady Gaga. You know what I meant. When did you realize that you liked _me_?”  When I think more about it, I realize that… there’s never been a specific moment. More like, there’s been numerous, countless, sprawling and miniscule moments that just reaffirm what I’ve always felt. She was just always Sammy. I start to wonder if I might have even loved her the first time we met.

I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on the mousey little blonde.

I was serving one of my many after school detentions, and because I’d found limitless ways to entertain myself in the regular study hall detention (or, better yet, I couldn’t sit still or stop distracting the other students), Mr. Pollock has come up with this brilliant idea to utilize me within the school’s janitorial duties. In retrospect, I was basically unpaid child labor, but that is not the point.

So that day was the worst of all - table duty in the cafeteria. Let me tell you right now, it wasn’t wiping down the tables with a bleach solution or folding the tables up at the end of the day, _ohhhh no_. It was taking a paint scraper and single-handedly taking the wadded up, cement-like chunks of gum out from underneath each. and. every. table.

What had I done to deserve such a punishment? Well, lemme tell you. Firstly, I didn’t act alone. I used Chris’ tech-savvy finesse to pull it off. And as a good friend, I took all the heat. Chris didn’t need his perfect school record blemished on account of my grudge against Mrs. Tomay (aka Hagitha. No, that wasn’t _actually_ her first name, she just looked like a Hagitha).

Second of all, this little prank didn’t just land me two weeks worth detention. I was also banned from our homecoming dance - which was fine. Not like I was gonna ask anyone, anyway. So, it all started when Hagitha gave my parents an awful progress report and I (with my anger issues and impulsive nature) was hellbent on getting her back.

So, with the help of Chris, I recorded her in class and we spliced her voice over a porno and played it over the loudspeaker during lunch. Of course it came back to me - I was notorious for shenanigans of this exact nature - and now I was on table duty every day for two weeks. But seeing her face turn bright red over the sounds of passion while she was monitoring lunch was well worth it and I’d do it again if I had the chance.

_Anyyyyways_ , now that you have some backstory, I’m in the cafeteria with a heap of old gum beside me and I’m digging away on a particularly caked-on piece, when the doors to the cafeteria open and in walks this brace-faced little blonde with a ‘save the whales’ t-shirt that is far too big for her on over a pair of tights and converse sneakers. Her face is tear-streaked as Mr. Pollock points to me, then at Sam.

“Washington. Get her set up. She’s gonna be joining you today,” he says gruffly from behind his _killer_ mustache (Mr. Pollock was like my arch nemesis, but we had this kinda love-hate relationship. He was just doing his job and I had this _major F_ erris Bueller- complex). He turns, shutting the door behind him and leaving us alone in the huge, empty cafeteria. She turned slowly, wiping her nose with her arm and subduing a bit of a sniffle, trying her best not to cry.

“ _Uhhhh_ …” I moan awkwardly; I’ve never been very good at comforting anyone… _especially_ girls. One time Hannah came home crying about not making the swim team and I told her to ‘man up’ and promptly retreated back to my room and away from the threat of tears. Luckily, I got better at it as I got older and realized that girls cry, and having two sisters meant I’d just have to get used to it and grow a sensitivity chip. “It’s… okay,” I attempt to be assuring, but it sounds like more of a question. My words are enough to break her, and she promptly starts crying into her palms. I groan - this is the most creative punishment that Mr. Pollock has ever come up with. “Hey,” I say as sweetly as I can, nearing her slowly. “Listen, it’s not that bad. It’ll be over before you know it.” She peeks out at me from between her fingers, her big green eyes glossy and tear filled.

 “I’ve never been in trouble before,” she hiccups, but given her dorky t-shirt ( _Have a WHALE of a time! Save the Whales!_ ) and her innocent face, this was no surprise to me. It’s not like I pictured her tearin’ up the town when she wasn’t attending protests and eating whole grains. (I didn’t just assume she was vegan, btw. Like most proud vegans, she is wearing a pin on her shirt that says “ _My Food Doesn’t Have A Face!_ ”)

 “Hey, at least now you got some street cred… You’re on your way to being certifiably badass,” I offer her. Her eyes widen and she looks far too excited by that sarcastic comment.

 “I am?” she asks in awe. _Relax, little one._

 “Well, I mean, don’t go buying a leather jacket and joining a biker gang just yet,” I laugh. I spin the paint chipper in my hand like an outlaw and she looks at me like I might be the coolest person she’s ever seen. I like it. Probably too much. “What are you in for, anyway? Lettin’ some cute boy cheat off your test?” Mr. Pollock peeks in through the window of the cafeteria door and catches me being too cool, so he points at me, which means it’s time to get back to work and stop showing off. I lead Sam to the table and place a scraper in her hand and we both start working away on the gum again.

“Mr. Avery sent me to detention because I wouldn’t dissect a frog. _And_ he gave me an _“F”_ on the assignment!” I blow the wind from my lungs into a whistle and shake my head.

 “We got ourselves a real trouble-maker here, huh?” I smirk sideways at her. She looks at me with big eyes and I feel myself  relax a bit when she returns the smile. It is small, but it makes me feel good that she offers it to me, anyways, even through her sadness. “You do know the frog is already dead, right?”

 “I couldn’t do it!” she blurts out passionately. “I can’t even eat meat or animal products. Do you have any idea what conditions those cattle ranches keep their cows in? O-or how they slice their necks open, hang em upside down and let them bleed out all over the place while they’re still alive?” She asks, getting unnervingly close to my face with huge, bulging eyes. I can smell her breath, and it appears she’s recently consumed some kind of fruit candy.

 “Really? _Hardcore_ ,” I mumble, backing up from her a bit to reclaim my personal space. She gets on her knees and crawls towards me anyway.

 “Are you aware how inhumane and corrupt the North American meat industry is?” I pause, staring at her flushed cheeks and serious disposition. I sigh, pushing her back again and out of my way. Her body heat is radiating off of her and it’s making me uncomfortable.

 “Ah, you’re one of _those,_ ” I observe, catching a piece of gum in my hand and adding it to the pile.

 “Excuse me? One of _those_?” she mimics.

 “One of those crunchy, hippie, tree-hugging types.” She drops her mouth in offense, but before she could object I add, “you’re _literally_ wearing a ‘save the whales shirt’ and a bracelet made out of hemp. Do you really wanna fight me on this?” I tease with a wink. She self-consciously folds her arms over her chest, but it’s too late, sweetie. I’ve already seen the shirt.

 “Oh and what are _you_ ?” she sneers back at me with narrow eyes. “One of those bad boys that has to act out because your parents don’t pay enough attention to you?” She spits out defensively. I barely glance at her, my smile spreading. _Touche, little granola-muncher. You are onto me._ I don’t even have to say anything to defend myself, she is already beating herself up. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve seen you around, though. You get in trouble a lot. You’re Hannah’s big brother, right?”

 “The one and only,” I grunt, a piece of gum popping off the table and landing onto her lap. She twists up her face into a look of disgust and picks it up between her thumb and pointer finger, setting it down on the heap.

 “Yeah, I thought you looked familiar. Hannah and I have been friends for a long time. You’re Josh, right?” she asks, and I feel a little flattered that she knows my name. Although, I also feel pretty bad because I know for a fact that Hannah has a best friend that she’s always going on and on about and I can’t for the life of me remember her name.

 “Yup. And you’re...”

“Sam,” she finishes for me. _Right. That’s it. Sam_ . She’s back on her knees now, folding her blonde hair behind her ear. She’s really of _very_ little help, but I’m not totally hating the company. Especially since Mr. Pollock won’t even let me listen to music on my phone since I blasted NWA’s ‘ _Fuck tha Police_ ’ on the highest volume, last time. _The janitors loved it._  

After that day, she just started showing up at my house like a little stalker. Funny how I’d never even seen her before, but after our three-hour-detention it’s like I couldn’t get rid of her - not that I particularly minded. It was better than Emily, who Beth started bringing around all the time. Sam was always chill, and I grew more and more used to having her around until she was simply just one of the many strays the Washingtons had brought in.

And now here she was, sitting right beside me as we tried to figure out where to go next on our date because neither of us wanted to end the night _just_ yet. My, how far we’d come from braces and after school detention.

“When did you know?” Sam asks again, and I realize that I’ve just been staring at her like a zombie while I play the scene of our first meeting in my head over and over again. And although I’m a little disappointed that I can’t pinpoint something specific, at least it’s not as lame as her moment of realization - eating pizza rolls off the floor? If I knew she loved filth I never would have teased her so badly by eating that burrito out of the garbage in the park the other day. Must have driven her absolutely mad with desire. “ _Josh_!” she laughs, shaking her head. “That’s no fair, you have to answer!”

“Oh… you mean, you think I _like_ you? Huh… I guess I never really thought of you that way before...” I tease, she bites her bottom lip and balls up her fist. I know it’s coming, but I can’t stop my mouth before I utter, “This is all so _sudden._ I mean, you’re okay, I guess…” And there it is, her tiny but powerful little fist that I’ve actually come to miss since she’d gone soft on me, hitting my shoulder at just the right angle. Knuckle-first, gonna leave a tiny bruise, for sure. I chuckle and rub my arm, but before I know it, Sam’s veering off the road. “Whoa, whoa SAM! Watch out!” I yell, and the car has officially landed nose-first in a small ditch.

We’re not hurt, but I can see from the panic in Sam’s face as she peers over the steering wheel, her hair in her face, that she was completely caught off guard. I knew it, I knew one day she was gonna wreck. And I knew she’d take me down with her. I’m not even mad though, just glad that we’re both okay. She groans, her head resting on the steering wheel.

“Not again,” she moans, and my eyes widen in her direction.

“Not _again_ ?! As in, this has happened _before_?” Sam doesn’t answer me, and it seems like a silly question to ask her after riding with her so much lately and seeing first hand what a terrible driver she is. She grabs her phone, clicking it on.

“My mom’s gonna _kill_ me,” she grumbles under her breath. Mom. Parent. Authority. These things aren’t really kosher for me right now, and I snatch her phone out of her hands without thinking. “Hey!” she shouts, reaching over me to get it but it’s hanging out the window now. “Give that back!” she demands. “I need to call my mom-” 

“If you tell your mom she’s gonna tell my parents,” I say quietly, and her face softens when she realizes that I’m right.

“ _Fine_ . I have Triple A. I’ll just call them and see how much I can get away with without involving the parentals…” she promises. I hand her her phone and she makes the quick call. They say they’ll be there within the next three hours (what?!) and we’re pretty much in the middle of nowhere, save for a shitty little tavern across the street that looks like it might have an ‘ _eat this whole steak in 30 seconds and it’s free!’_ gimmick on the menu. Which… given the emptiness in my stomach _and_ pockets at the moment, I might be down for.

 “Should we go wait in there?” I offer. Sam looks apprehensive, but finally agrees.

 “Fuck it, I gotta pee anyway,” she shares as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

 “Whoa, Sam. Save the dirty talk for the bedroom,” I quip as we get out of the car and head over to the bar.

  _...AND IT’S KARAOKE NIGHT!_

 I can sense this from outside of the bar (cleverly named “The Bar” on the outside, btw) when I hear the sound of some cackley, old woman’s voice leaking from the building, ‘singing’ (and I use that word loosely) some _Don’t Stop Believing_ … which makes me want to both stop believing _and_ give up on life.

Let me just say, there is only one thing I hate more than karaoke. And that is bowling. But, whatever. It’s still better than sitting in her car for the next three hours waiting for Triple A. We walk in, and I have my ID ready but the older, husky gentleman at the door who is supposed to be carding everyone looks like he might be brain dead from all of the horrible singing this evening and just waves us in.

Once we are inside, Sam hurries straight for the bathroom and I hurry straight for the bar. I’ve already dined and dashed once tonight, I am not about to sit here and listen to this nonsense without a little bit of booze. Oh, and french fries, which I promptly order and just pray it’s not deep fried in animal fat so Sam can enjoy them with me.

Sam returns, looking relieved but slightly guilty before ordering herself a soda and we retire to a booth to wait with our fries and beverages.

 “ _So?_ ” she’s twirling a yellow lock of her hair around her finger. Lookin’ all cute and shit.

 “What?” My voice is muffled by a mouth full of deep fried potato wedge. She smiles at me, taking a fry for herself and bringing it up to her lips. I can’t lie… it’s kinda erotic.

 “You never told me when you knew you liked me,” she reminds me. The fact is, I know the answer now, but it’s kind of embarrassing to say. I lean back in the booth, chewing on my food to buy some time, trying in vain to think of a cooler story to tell, but I can see by the impatience in her eyes that she wants to know now. Fine.

“Okay,” I nod, wiping my hands together to rid my fingers of the grease and salt. “It was when you came over to stay a few days while your mom went out of town for that hippie retreat-”

“The PETA protest?”

“Right, same thing. Now hush, I’m telling the story.” She cups her hands over her mouth, a promise to stay quiet. “Anyways, you got that really bad flu-” Sam groans, shaking her head.

“No, that is not when you started liking me-”

“-and you were just like a vomit monster. Everywhere. All the time. It was so gnarly…”

“I don’t wanna hear this anymore,” she says, her face in her hands and her cheeks red. Gauging her reaction, she seems to remember it just as well as I do, I assume.

“Almost everyone ended up getting it, except me and my dad. Everyone was in bed and you were on the couch, and I remember I was trying to watch a movie and you sat up and said, ‘I don’t feel so well, Josh,’ and just hurled onto the living room floor,” I’m laughing now at the memory, because I can remember it so vividly I could probably tell you exactly what types of food chunks were in the puke. Sam is just staring at me now, shaking her head with a sheepish, sideways smile, waiting for me to be done. She is probably just assuming I am bringing this up to be a dick but… no. This was the moment.

“Is that all?” she pleads. I shake my head.

“I remember that I never took care of a sick person before, not even my sisters. And I had to help you get cleaned up. And you were crying and crying and begging me not to clean up your barf because it was embarrassing but… it didn’t bother me. Not at all. I let you change into one of my shirts…” She smiles wider at the memory.

“Blink 182…” she recalls. “Man, I loved that shirt.”

“And I remember thinking it looked amazing on you. And as I was holding your hair back while you puked in the toilet, I remember thinking… I wouldn’t do this for just anybody…” We stare into each other’s eyes from across the table, and I can tell that even though she had expected this to be a horrible story, she’s actually quite pleased with my answer… hell, even I think it was pretty damn impressive. She opens her mouth to say something when…

“Okay, next up we have _Joshuuuuuaaaaaaa Washingtoooooonnnnnn_ …” the karaoke MC booms from the microphone. My eyes probably triple in size and Sam’s smile has shifted from sweet to sinister. While I do love the way he called out my name, as though I were getting called down for a game show or something, the gravity of the situation is sinking in.

“ _Ooops…_ ” she giggles, her fingers flitting up to her lips. “Did I forget to mention I put your name in for a song?”

“No. Way.”

“Joshua let’s get you up here!” the DJ says, and Sam stands, clapping her hands.

“WOOOOO JOSHUA! YEAH, JOSH! GET UP THERE JOSH!” she starts yelling, loudly, getting the drunk and excited bar patrons to join in. Before I know it, she’s practically dragging me to the floor, and a drunk old woman is shoving the microphone in my hand as the unmistakable guitar riff to “ _I Believe In A Thing Called Love_ ” by The Darkness begins.

_I’m going to murder her._

But, since I can’t do that, I attempt to put on the best show I can. And I’m taking her down with me. I near Sam at the table, making sure everyone knows I’m with her. I can see the regret in her eyes the closer I get.

“I _can’t explain all the feelings that you’re making me feEeeEel. My heart’s in overdrive and you’re behind the steering wheEeeEel_ .” My voice is awful but it doesn’t even matter because I’ve pulled her _and_ her chair out to the hardwood dance floor, and she’s hiding her face as I proceed to give her…. well, what I can only describe as a lapdance.

‘ _Touchin’ yoOooOuuuu…_ ” I touch her, gliding my whole hand over her face.  “ _Touchin’ MeEeEeEe…._ ” I touch me. Everyone’s laughing and I’m feeling a little better than she has to be just as humiliated as I am, probably even worse…

_“I believe in a thing called love, Just listen to the rhythm of my heart. There's a chance we could make it now, we'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down. I believe in a thing called looooooove! Oooh!”_ This is where we cue the air guitar and pelvic thrusts. It’s not my fault she chose such a sexy song. And as I’m air guitaring (and then air drumming, and then air piano-ing) across the bar, I finally and inevitably smash into a big dude carrying a pitcher of beer and it crashes all over the place… and all over him. He turns towards me angrily, and he’s one of those roid-ragers who just starts swinging. His fist makes brief but substantial contact with my jaw, but fuck this I’m outta here. I finally got all my bruises from the last week healed up, no way am I starting this process over again.

“Josh, _OUT_!” I shout into the microphone before the mic drop. I spin on a heel and book it towards the door, snagging Sam by the arm on my way out.

We make it out into the night air quickly, sprinting back over to her awaiting car and the laughter feels infectious. We hide down low behind the car, waiting to see if the big dude followed us out, but after a few moments we realize we’re in the clear. We both look at each other for a moment before we exhale the breath we’ve been holding. Adrenaline and testosterone and - _God knows what else_ \- is coursing through my veins and I pull her in quickly and roughly for a kiss, my tongue parting her lips as I kiss her hard and deep. She pushes up against me, her hands in my hair and I realize that we’re becoming more and more familiar with one another, _braver_.

When we part, we’re both breathless again, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to ask her to stay the night with me again, but before I can, her phone begins ringing. She glances down at the random number before answering it, and it’s clear from the exchange that it’s the tow truck driver confirming our location. Once she turns him around in our direction she hangs up, turning back towards me.

“I wasn’t honest before, by the way,” Sam admits quietly, her head bowed a bit but her eyes still searching for mine. “I didn’t realize I liked you when I saw you air guitaring…. although I did think that was pretty cute,” she adds with a smirk, and I feel like it’s a nice consolation prize for her big, fat _lie_.

“Wow, Sammy. That’s twice now in 24 hours,” I breathe, crossing my arms and shaking my head, disappointedly. “I don’t know how I’m ever gonna trust you, now.” Sam smiles wider, and I lean against the back of her car, my hands in my pockets now. “So…. when did you know, then?” She gives a bit of a shrug, shyly fidgeting with her keys in her hand.

“I guess in some ways I always knew… and in other ways I never knew….” she says quietly. _Cryptically_...

….

…..

……….

...um. wait.   _what?_ Have we suddenly crossed over into Wonderland where we now speak only in riddles? _What the hell kinda answer is that, Sammy._ I cock my head to the side and lower my eyebrows.

“What on earth does _that_ mean?” I ponder. She groans, dropping her arms dramatically and stomping over to join me at the back of the car. She sidles in right next to me, her hip pressed up against mine. I stare down at her, eagerly awaiting her response. She glances up at me through thick lashes. Another shrug.

“I mean… I guess I always had a crush on you, Josh. You _had_ to have known that…” I kinda feel a little flutter in my stomach because… yeah. I _thought_ maybe she had a crush on me growing up. I mean, I always _hoped_ . But I never really knew. It felt nice to hear it out loud… felt nice to know in one aspect, I wasn’t just imagining things. I wasn’t _completely_ crazy. “But… after Beth and Hannah went missing-” Uh oh. I don’t do well with the sudden mention of my sister’s names, sometimes, and the way I just felt my heart sputter makes me believe this is one of those times.

“Yeah, Sam, we really don’t need to talk about that,” I intercede quickly, but she’s still talking.

“-and we depended on each other so much-” 

_No._ I don’t _want_ the basis of our relationship to be build on that. I feel my eyes roll back and I hear myself scoff at her. She’s trying to talk to me and I’m blowing her off. Why do I do this.

“Josh, we _have_ to be able to talk about things eventually-” she says, her voice a beg as she grips onto the sleeve of my shirt. I drop my head, and for the first time in days that tiny but powerful little headache between my eyes has returned with a vengeance. I groan, involuntarily. “What I’m trying to say is-” she’s looking up at me from below now, trying to get me to look at her. Finally, she roughly cups my cheeks in her hands and forces my gaze upon her. Once I see the mistiness in her eyes I can literally look at nothing else.

“When you didn’t come out of those mines...when we all thought you were dead,” she croaks, and then I see her hold back a shiver. “I knew if by some miracle they pulled you out, no matter what you did to us… to _me_ …” she pauses, shaking her head while she garners the courage to say the words. “That I would be by your side no matter what. It wasn’t until then that I knew how much I cared about you,” she nearly cries. I feel a lump in my throat because… I’ve never known love or compassion like that. I’d never been capable of giving it or worthy of receiving it… and yet she was offering that to _me_.

Before I can even respond to that, I can see the tow truck nearing us from down the street, and I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved…. I’ll have to ask Dr. Finke about that, tomorrow.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got a little carried away. This got a little too long and a little unfocused. But, oh well.


	11. Cough Syrup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow...um… really sorry for the delay. I’ve had a lot going on in my life over the last few weeks, more specifically my parent’s house burned down on 1/19/2016. But I promise I am back and never leaving JAM again. I’ve also been a little preoccupied with Twist of Fate. Anyways, let’s get back to this, shall we? Leave a review. I’m feelin’ needy.
> 
> BTW. I have depression and anxiety, both of which I am medicated for. Even still, there are days where I have literally a non-stop panic attack all day long for no reason (not unlike how I feel today). It’s like my body is trapped in Fight or Flight mode and I cannot express just how stressful and unnerving and horrible it feels when it happens. I have heart palpitations and I’m wired but tired at the same time, so I want to run all my energy out but I also just want to sleep.  I’m sleepy so I want caffeine but caffeine just makes my heart pump faster and my chest feel tight. Usually I have no idea what set me off...so. yeah. This chapter is dedicated to a day in the life of a full-on anxiety attack. Also, this might have some typos. It’s 12:06 am on a worknight. I’ll edit them tomorrow.

******_Chapter Eleven:_ **

_ Cough Syrup _

_ a.k.a. _

_ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! _

* * *

Sam didn’t text me that night.

...Or the next morning, either. 

Since she bulldozed into my life, I’ve found myself growing fond of her ever- _ constant _ pestering... to the point that this silence left me incredibly unsettled. I almost don’t trust it. 

I guess I can’t  _ blame _ her… it wasn’t the best date in the world. It involved a lot more running than most dates. On the plus-side, it also involved a lot less violence than I had anticipated…  _ sooo _ … there’s that.

I wanted to tell her last night what our first date was supposed to be - the one I’d imagined in my head probably a million times before I  _ actually _ got a shot with her. Things just ended up so fucking weird.

_ My bad. _

I did a classic Joshua Washington “freak-out” when she tried to talk to me about my sisters. Not entirely what I had had in mind for our first date. Then again, a lot of things with Sam never seem to go how I expect them to…

But I  _ definitely _ didn’t expect our date to end with the both of us silently and awkwardly sitting in a tow truck with a fat dude named Phil who smelled like frier-grease and crippling loneliness. She  _ did _ offer me a quick kiss on the cheek when they dropped me off at my house ( _ er.. well, _ down the block from my house. Couldn’t risk Mrs. Garretson seeing me and ratting on me to the parental units).

I wish she hadn’t brought up my sisters and got me all flustered. It’s not even her fault, I guess. It IS a conversation we’ve needed to have…or at least,  _ partially _ have. I just wish it could have waited. I just wanted  _ one _ night with her that wasn’t a complete fuck up. To show her that I really  _ can _ be good.

 

**_Josh:_ ** _ Yoooo…. What’s the plan, Sam?  _ [7:46 am]

 

Her lack of response to that message sent almost two hours ago is all I can think about as I sit there in my session with Dr. Finke. I’m on edge today. I’m feeling more nervous than  _ ever  _ and I just hope he doesn’t notice. This anxiety is probably because I have spent so many days this last week doing a shitload of things I am not supposed to be doing… and at the same time I feel like I  _ need _ to tell him all about those things to be able to get some solid advice from this guy - that’s the whole point of a shrink, right? I am sitting in the chair across from him, wondering how I can ask him questions  _ hypothetically _ and if he catches on, just how obligated he is to narc on me to the court. 

“You look worried,” he says, studying me from behind his glasses. Dr. Finke is  _ very _ good at noticing super obvious things and then saying them out loud.  I  _ am _ worried. Worried that he’s gonna ask me the right question and I’m gonna spill my guts all over this poorly decorated office... or at the very least ask me if my jerking off habits have changed since the last time I saw him. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

I shake my head. I am now wondering if there is a chance that I might be able to get through this entire session without saying a word. I’m already 10 minutes in and so far, so good. I’m terrified of what will come out if I open my mouth. I’m gonna get myself locked up for sure…  _ Prison here I come _ … but keeping quiet hasn’t been getting me anywhere, either. There has to be a middle ground, here.

Finke sighs, taking off his glasses and plopping them onto his desk, “Joshua, I’m becoming concerned that these sessions aren’t doing much for you. I can’t help you if you don’t help  _ me _ .” 

“I want to talk about my sisters,” I vomit out bravely before I can choke it back down. It tastes bitter and sour in my mouth and I almost regret it instantly but if I can’t figure out how to talk about my sisters with Sam  _ without _ having a meltdown, then I’m only going to scare her off. I believe I did enough of that when I followed her around a dark basement with a tank of sleeping gas… 

“O- _ kay _ ,” he says enthusiastically, raising his eyebrows in surprise. He wants to say, ‘ _ finally! _ ’ but he doesn’t, which I appreciate. “What _ about _ your sisters?” 

Yup. I can already tell that this is a bad idea. My hands are getting sweaty. I give a shrug, attempting to seem flippant but I think I’m failing.

“I mean… I want to be able to talk about them to other people without freaking out,” I say quickly because I’m losing my nerve and quite possibly my shit.

“Have you ‘ _ freaked out _ ’ over talking about them lately?” he pushes on, trying to sound hip or something by adopting my lingo. Like he’s trying to get down on my level to get me to open up but it sounds weird and foreign and dorky coming from him. I cross my arms over my chest, giving him a half-hearted shrug. 

“I  _ guess _ .”

“Would you say you’ve been under duress, lately?” he asks me (who even uses that word anymore? I thought it was extinct like Latin or something). I feel insanely hot - and not in a  _ ‘Sam is snuggled up really close to my junk in my twin bed’ _ hot. It’s the kind of hot that reminds me of when you were a kid and your parents confront you on doing something wrong but they _ already know _ the truth, so they are daring you to lie to them. 

And  _ yes _ . Massive amounts of  _ duress. _ Patching up old friendships, getting violently or verbally assaulted, going on dates… it’s been a pretty eventful week on my end. I never even accomplished this much when I wasn’t crazy (was there ever a time? I’m not so sure anymore).

“I’ve been feeling a little stressed out, I guess,” I finally answer, and he writes something down on his notepad.  

“Why do you think that is?” he presses on. This would be the perfect opportunity to come clean, but instead I think up something on the fly. They don’t call me “ _ Pants-on-Fire Joshua _ ” for nothin’....

actually no; don’t call me that. But I have been known to lie my way out of a conundrum a time or two.. _ hundred _ .

“I guess I’ve just been starting to feel bad about what I did to my friends and I wanna be able to explain myself without freaking out,” I come up with, and he seems pleased.

“Oh, so I am guessing that the letters I instructed you to write have been helping?” he chirps happily. Uh,  _ excuuuse _ me? The letters you didn’t give a shit about last week? You ain’t takin’ the credit for this one, doc. 

“Sure,” I say instead. 

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your sisters?” Instant heart palpitations, tight throat tightening. “What were they like?”

“ _ Um… _ ” my voice cracks. I kinda feel like the walls are closing in on me, like one of those wacky funhouses you go into at those shoddily-put-together pop-up carnivals that came to town in the summer (usually in a K-Mart parking lot, you know the ones I’m talking about but I digress). 

“They were  _ different _ …” I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember? I can’t picture their faces. 

“How were they different?”

SWEET BABY JESUS THIS IS TORTURE. 

Let’s get one things straight here: the pills, the anger, the bullshitting my therapist, and even making things right with the gang have all been distractions from actually  _ dealing _ with the loss of my sisters. Even planning that stupid prank on my friends was a way to ignore that they were really gone. I’ve been to enough shrinks to know this  _ and  _ I was majoring in psychology before I dropped out of college; I am aware of my own means of escapism (isn’t that the absolute worst? To actually know you’re going crazy and have no control over it? I’ll tell you now, it fucking sucks). And since for some reason I’m being 100% honest with myself right now, I can say that I haven’t actually thought about them in a very,   _ very _ long time. It’s like they aren’t even real anymore. But they  _ were _ real. No matter how many times I said over and over and over again that they weren’t real… they  _ were _ .

 

I had sisters once. 

And then I didn’t. 

 

One was named Beth. Sarcastic. Monotone (as much as me). Liked scary movies (not as much as me). She put hot sauce on  _ everything,  _ even spaghetti. She cut her hair as an act of rebellion when she and Hannah got in a fight because she wanted to ‘be her own person,’ - much to Hannah’s dismay. She played a few sports and she was really smart. She was a fantastic speller; I remember everyone in the house would ask at some point, ‘How do you spell [insert big, confusing word here]’ and it was always Beth who piped up, spelling it out loudly from another room as though it were the easiest thing in the world. 

She confided in me once that she thought she maybe liked girls. I just hugged her, kissed the top of her head and said, ‘ _ Hey! Me too _ .’ And we never spoke of it again. She died from falling from a great height and shattering her spine. 

I also had a sister named Hannah - she was 2 minutes and 23 seconds younger than Beth - Beth used to annoy her by saying ‘ _ when I was your age _ ,’ before she offered Hannah any advice - most of the time it was advice Hannah hadn’t even asked for. She was a dreamer and super naive,  _ to a fault _ . We always told her “ _ Did you know that if you say ‘gullible’ slowly it sounds like oranges _ ?” She had only fallen for it once, but it didn’t stop us from saying it whenever she said something particularly quirky, to which she responded with an eye roll or a gentle punch in the shoulder. She believed in Santa the longest. She never wore matching socks. 

She was ridiculously romantic and dramatic. Beth and I worried about her sometimes; about how she would accumulate to the ‘real world’. She watched trashy reality TV shows every night, and it usually took up all the space on our TiVo. She also wrote in her diary daily. I only stole it from her and used it for blackmail once (which is pretty generous for a big brother, I would say). I never read it and I wish I would have. It’s in a box in the attic. She almost starved to death and became a monster. She’s dead now, too.

I helped Hannah have the courage to take off her training wheels. I (reluctantly) taught Beth how to skateboard. I offered them terrible, misguided ‘boy advice,’ to which they just scoffed at me and grumbled that they’d just Google it. We had pizza Thursdays and whenever mom or dad couldn’t make it to a dance recital, band concert, or play (Hannah) or a soccer game, spelling bee, or debate (Beth), I played the role of stand-in. Which was a lot. 

These memories were real. These memories  _ meant _ something. I know things about them that only a big brother could know. I loved them and it was my job to keep them safe and watch out for them. That was always my job. And then they were gone, and my job served no purpose anymore.

 

“Joshua, can you tell me why are you crying?” 

I reach my hand up and feel the wetness on my face.  _ Sonofabitch _ . When did _ that _ happen? 

“How do I talk about them without this happening?” I ask him, because I’m desperate to know why I can’t just be normal for fucking once. 

“It just takes time. And from what I gather, you’re a very impatient young man. You can’t push them out of your head or pretend that they never existed. You have to mourn or you’re never going to be able to escape this well of anger and emotion inside of you. I suggest you try talking to one of your parents about it...A relative? Your father?”

“He hasn’t talked to me in over four months,” I say before I can stop myself. Why am I sharing so much with him today? He’s sneaky. 

“Have you tried?”

_ No. _

“Yeah.”

“How about you g-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say quickly, my anxiousness just growing in my chest like a big fucking boulder just crushing me and stealin the air from my lungs. If I’m gonna have a freak out, this should be the best place to have it. But I can’t. I can see his disappointment - we were finally getting somewhere with me.

“I just… don’t have anything else to say today,” I add quietly, my eyes unable to focus on his beady ones. They look so strange not being magnetized by his mondo lenses. 

“Then I would say this session is done for the day, wouldn’t you?” he muses. He’s trying to reverse psyche me, but I know better. With his permission I abruptly stand. I’m positive by the stupid look on his face that he didn’t expect me to call his bluff. “Josh-” he begins, but I’m already gone.

I hurry through the office as though he is tailing me, about to tackle me to the ground and physically keep me from leaving, but as I peer over my shoulder I see that no one is there. I think to myself just how crazy that sounds. Of course that would never happen. Still, I feel a panic inside and I feel like I see something out of the corner of my eye. I don’t stop. I keep moving.

I bypass the bitchy secretary who gives me the stupid card saying the same thing is always says; that I have an appointment on Wednesday. Big deal. She calls after me but nope I’m outta there. In the parking lot. I’m making excellent time.  _ Did I remember to take my pill yesterday? Yes. I did. I distinctly remember. It was before my date… shit. Sam. She’s not talking to me.  _

I round the sidewalk, turning the corner quickly. Can’t go the normal way home, they might be following me _. Shit Josh, stop being so paranoid…. what’s your problem?  _ I hiss in pain, stopping my strides to buckle over, gripping the bridge of my nose, those horrible headaches back and plaguing me… worse than before. I shove my hands in my pockets and pull out the cellphones.

I glance down at my 6-year-old phone. No calls from mom and dad.

I glance down at my super spy phone. Nothing from Sam. 

I am pissed now. Not at her. At myself. I fucked something up last night. I just know it.  _ Think, Josh. Think. What did you do?  _

_ You didn’t pay for dinner. _

_ You got punched in a bar. _

_ You sang karaoke… _

_ yeah.. That was probably it. My singing scared her off.  _

One of the phones in my hands start to vibrate, followed by some chiming. It’s ringing. For a second I can’t tell which phone is which. I bring it to my ear and say hello, since it’s just a number flashing across my screen.

“Yoooo…so, how did it go?” It’s Chris. “I got the number from Sam,” he clarifies before I can ask, but what I’m more curious about is _ when _ he got it from Sam. Is she talking to other people but not me? 

Either way, I’m happy that Chris is here now to distract me and I feel my heart rate beginning to slow, my breathing coming back. Whatever panic attack I was having is beginning to subside a bit.

“Oh.  _ You _ know… I totally tapped that,” I say, still slightly breathless from marathoning away from my doctor’s office. I still keep looking over my shoulder.

“ _ Riiiiight. _ And how did it  _ really _ go?” he asks. 

“Well, so good that I haven’t heard from her in-” I peer down at my TMNT watch, “...10 hours, 42 minutes and 34 seconds.”

“Ouch.”

“I blew it, man. I did something wrong and I fucked it up,” I say, beating myself up. This isn’t like it’s new to Chris, I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist; he’s had to hear me ridicule myself much worse than this. 

“Hey, it’s like I always say: if you love someone, show them a video of you getting sawed in half and chase them practically naked in a dark basement. If they come back, they’re yours forever.” 

_ Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny.  _ At least, he seems to think so. And actually, I kinda do, too. And… he kinda has a point. If she was willing to even go on a date with me after that-

_ Wait one hot second, here.  _ I’m starting to question Samantha’s judgement. She never should have gone out with me after doing that to her! What is she thinking?

I also realize that I’ve thought about the night of the prank today more than usual, too.  _ Damn therapy and Samantha… making me feel things and actually cope with my demons... _

“Why don’t you come over and keep me from falling off the deep end while I hide from invisible shadow men?” I wish I was joking. “I’ll let you hide all of the sharp objects away from me…” I add as though I’m tempting him. I can see my street coming up; I believe I made it home in record time.

“ _ Ooo _ , as  _ fun _ as that sounds-” (but I don’t believe him because he definitely said ‘ _ fun _ ’ like it was indeed  _ not  _ fun) “-I can’t. Ash has another performance at the cafe.” Ugh. Gross. Of course she does. “Plus, you know, you haven’t-”

“Yeahyeahyeah, I know I know. I haven’t apologized to her and blah blah blah. You know, she hasn’t apologized to  _ me _ for that prank on Hannah,” I point out, and I can tell from Chris’ silence I’ve probably offended him. It’s what I do, though. So...

“I really don’t think you wanna go there with me,  _ bro _ .” That ‘ _ bro _ ’ sounded an awful lot like ‘ _ asshole. _ ’

_ Fair enough.  _

I end the call with Chris on my front porch, and then I stare at the phone in my hand. Still nothing from Sam. 

I open the messages, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

I want to text her. I want to apologize if I made her upset somehow last night… I want to assure her than I can do better than that… I want to tell her how beautiful she looked and how I really want to see her again and maybe even talk about my sisters, if she wants to… _ Instead... _

 

**_Josh:_ ** _ Saaaamson… Where u be? I’m getting kinda nervous Phil is wearing a suit of your skin now…   _ [10:34 am]

 

Once I hit send, I feel my stomach churn. Whyyyy do I do this shit? Why can’t I ever just say what I mean to say? Am I seriously that defective? I can’t believe I let myself get this worked up. She’s probably just dealing with the car stuff… or maybe she got grounded.

When I walk into my house I instantly tear my my sweater off, which feels like it’s trying to strangle me to death (very weakly and slowly). I’m still wearing my “I’m with Stupid” (arrow pointing to my goodies) shirt, but since I have no one to impress I don’t even care. My pants are the next to go, because every bit of fabric touching my skin right now is too much. Heart boxers can stay though. My socks don’t match. I think of Hannah against my will.

The house is eerily quiet; is it always this quiet? I can hear a buzzing, a white noise, vibrating on some frequency that I’m not usually tuned into. I need music. Now. Loud. Anything to drown out the silence and the fact that I’m fairly certain I just saw something shift in the darkness of my hallway. I pretend that I didn’t. Because to admit that I did means something pretty bad for me.

Stereo’s on, blaring  _ Cough Syrup _ by Young the Giant. I don’t even remember the last time I heard this song but it’s a good choice, in my book. I turn it up even louder. 

 

_ ‘Life’s too short to even care at all, whoa-oh-oh! I’m losing my mind, losing my mind, losing control’ _

 

Hmm.. Oddly fitting.

I feel like I’m crawling out of my own skin. I want to rip out my hair. My head won’t quiet down and I’m scared to face what I think might be happening and has happened before: that my meds aren’t working anymore - the doctor’s have told me there’s always that chance. It happens. But I don’t want to go back to how I was last year… I don’t want to slip again.  _ I’m trying to be good, damnit! _

 

_ ‘If I could find a way to see this straight I’d run away to some fortune that I should have found by now, I’m waiting for this cough syrup to come down, come down.” _

 

I collapse onto the couch because I’m exhausted and wired all at the same time. I can feel my heart thumping against my chest, I’m afraid it’s gonna burst out Alien-style and then feast on the rest of my organs. The best thing I could do is try to sleep this away… maybe pop a Xanex that my mom has in her bathroom. I’m not sure I should be mixing pills th-

There’s a knock at my front door!!! I literally fly off the couch, only stopping to turn off the music. Maybe it’s Sam. Maybe she lost her phone or it got stuck in her car. I look through the peephole but all I can see is the top of a blonde head and I feel relieved. I’m far too excited as I pull the door up and yell, ‘ _ Finally!’ _

She turns around, slightly startled. 

_ Wrong blonde. _

“Oh, it’s you,” I say.

Luckily she doesn’t have pepper spray. At least not out where I can see it.

“ _ Aww _ , good to see you too, Joshie,” Jessica smiles, reaching in and pinching my cheek before she recoils, looking me up and down.“Why are you dressed like that?” And I have no idea how to answer that. I’m trying to maybe come across like I haven’t been going crazy for the last half hour.

“Hey, don’t come to my home and judge  _ me, _ ” I demand, feeling quite silly standing there. She’s got a two coffees in a cup holder in her hand, like she’s planning on staying awhile.  _ Nonono _ … It’s bad enough having  _ one _ hot, bossy blonde in my life, let alone  _ two _ . Gotta nip this in the bud. I’m in no condition for company today. “Why… are you here?” Sure, we’re cool and all, but not  _ this _ cool. In fact, I don’t think we ever were. She sighs, rolling her eyes as though she doesn’t wanna be here anymore than I want her here.  _ Fuck ‘outta here with that lil tude, BBJ. _

“Sam’s off for the day,” she says sharply, shoving a white, cardboard coffee cup into my chest and walking right in passed me. “You get  _ me _ , instead.” What is it with these crazy women that make them think they can just invite themselves into my dwellings? “I didn’t know what kind of coffee you drink, so I just got yours black... like your soul.” I ignore her comment likening me to a soulless demon and hone in on the mention of my missing partner in crime. “Could you please put some pants on?” she requests. Well, damn, Jessica! If a man can’t be pants-less in his own home, where can he? This isn’t the America I once knew...

“Sam’s  _ off _ ?” I ask, reaching down to pick up my crumpled up jeans. I gotta say I’m a little relieved just to hear Sam’s name - at least I can rule out the whole Phil/Silence of the Lambs theory I was developing.

“Mmm _ hmm _ ,” she hums through a sip of coffee before she flips her hair and makes herself at home on my couch. I set the coffee down on a table near me while I negotiate my pants; I’m pretty sure I don’t need the extra caffeine. I’m hyped enough as it is.

“Is she okay? Did she seem upset?”

“ _ Upset _ ?” Jess muses, squinting one eye in confusion, then her eyes widened big as a look of realization spread across her face. “ _ Ohhhh _ , you mean over your guys’ little date thing or whatever last night?” she says casually, waving her hand at the idea.  _ Rude.  _ I cringe at the mention of it, utterly mortified that Jess knows even that much. And worse, that she’s so flippant about it. Did Sam feel that way, too?

“She… told you about that.” I plop down on the couch next to her. 

“ _ Duhhh _ , girls tell each other everything.”

“I didn’t even know you guys were close,” I grumble, my head cradled by my hand, propped up by the couch’s armrest.  

“We weren’t but uh.. what can I say? Sharing a night of terror together has bonded us all, eh?” she chortles happily. I wonder to myself if Jessica is as happy on the inside as she always seems on the outside. “Anyways, I kinda owed her a favor so she told me I had to be your apology spirit guide today. So… you have to do what I say! Those are the rules, right?” I have a horrible, terrible feeling about this. 

“And what is it that we have to do today?” Generally curious. 

“I dunno! That’s the fun part. All Sam said was that it’s time to face Ashley, and that you’re gonna hafta come up with a pretty grand gesture-”

“Eh, pass,” I say brattily with a roll of my shoulder. Soon. But I don’t entirely feel up to it today. 

“Yeah, see, Sam said that you’d say that. But she also said she won’t see you until you make peace with Ash.” Samantha Jensen: running my life even when she’s not physically with me. Is that why she’d been ignoring me? Incentive to get me to do what she wants? It’s as impressive as it is manipulative. Downright diabolical. Get me hooked on her like heroin and then she can control me however she wants. I lean back into the cushions of my couch, contemplating just what I can do to make things right with Ashley. I’m not even sure where to begin.

I don’t have a problem with Ash other than having to share my best friend with her… but since she’s seemingly not going anywhere, I guess it’s time I face the music and learn that that sage, wise advice:  _ if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.  _ Er… Or, something like that. I’m not entirely sure what that song is about other than the fact that Chris is gonna need Ash and I to get a long or one of us has to go - and I’m betting on him axing  _ my _ crazy ass well before he would ever ditch her. 

Then, suddenly, it hits me. But I have to get my head on straight and act fast if I want to be able to pull this one off. It’s time for a classic, Josh Washington-style surprise!

 

...Minus the 3-foot-wide saws.  _ This _ time.

* * *

Jess is a much better driver than Sam, which is actually surprising to me. She still makes me just as nervous though, considering the fact that she is texting, trying to put on lip gloss, steering the wheel with her knee and reaching for her soda in the cupholder. What a professional multitasker.

“So, when did you decide you were all  _ craaaazy  _ for Sam?” she says, her words mostly vowels as her mouth is agape and she runs the goopy, glossy crap across her lips. I am glad Sam doesn’t wear that stuff. It looks messy. She rubs her lips together, glances and me and winces a bit, “sorry, bad choice of words, huh?” Being called crazy hardly ever fazes me now.

“I dunno,” I mumble. Seriously though, I’ve barely talked to Jessica in all my life. And not only that, I’m trying to concentrate on what I’m writing. She rolls her eyes and turns on the radio, some sappy love song playing. Probably Celine Dion or something. Even still, my ears hone in on the lyrics before Jessica turns the channel. “Hey, wait! What song was that?” She glances at me and her mouth drops open.

“Oh...My.. _.God _ ,” she exclaims, and I wish she wouldn’t yell, “You like,  _ really _ like her, Josh! You’re totally smitten!” I’ve always hated that word. I hate it more now.

“No! I just… it was a nice song-”   
“ _ No one _ except grandmas and foreigners think Celine Dion’s songs are ‘nice songs’ unless they’re in love,” she points out, and I can’t really argue with that. Grandma Washington used to turn “My Heart Will Go On” so loud when I was little that I thought my ears might bleed. (Hannah, of course, loved it.) 

And _ damnit _ , she’s right. I’m letting sappy love songs make me think of Sam and I know I’m in deep when I feel this stupid, gross, longing in my heart to hear from her and it’s making me irritated more than anything else. 

“I’m not in love,” I mutter, turning my body away from Jess, crossing my arms and staring out the window. I watch the trees pass by, flashing green and brown, and I try to pretend like the green in the leaves doesn’t remind me of her eyes. I turn my head back towards Jess a bit, another shrug. “But like, if she’s in love with me, I guess I’d consider it,” I conclude. Jess folds her lips to keep from laughing and just shakes her head, never taking her eyes off the road.

“Dude, you’ve got it  _ bad _ .”

“So, why’d you dump Magic Mike?” I blurt, wanting to wipe that smug little smile off her face. It works. Actually, it works _ too _ well. I have never seen that kind of seriousness on Jess. I hope she doesn’t cry. I can’t deal with that right now. I try to lighten the mood (poorly) with, “did he refuse to go down on you?” She shoots me an appalled glare. I deserve it. But I keep going, of course. 

_ Because I am Joshua G. Washington, damnit!  _

“He never  _ did _ seem like much of a  _ giver _ …” I receive an even worse glare than before. “I’m sorry. I use humor as a defense mechanism when I am extremely uncomfortable… Please don’t pepper spray me.” She ignores my previous comments as if they never occurred… which is probably for the best.

“Why are you asking me about Mike?” she snaps. “Did  _ he _ tell you to ask me why we broke up? Because he  _ knows  _ why I-”

“ _ I’m  _ asking. He was in pretty bad shape the other night-”

“ _ Idon’twannahearaboutit, _ ” she says quickly, shaking her head and plastering the smile back on her face. I decide not to press it any further - I have my own stuff to worry about, anyways. 

I glance back down at my notebook on my lap.

_ Dear Ashley, _

is poorly written across the top (I can’t write in the car. Too bumpy).

After I finally bring the pen to the paper, it begins to just flow from me. It’s sloppy, it’s rough, but it’s allll me. And it was crazy to think that I didn’t apologize to her sooner, because once I started to actually focus on it, it was really very easy.

We pull up to campus, that same shitty, stupid cafe. I spot the wall I punched and glance down at my purple and blue knuckles that are yellowing around the bruises. (Another Josh Washington freak out. I need to get those under control.) Poor Sammy. I really scared her that day. And although it feels like forever ago, it was only two days ago. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone where time ceases to exist.

“ _ Excuse me _ !” Jess shouts as I reach for the handle of the door, “ _ Hell-o _ ! I am supposed to be the one in charge here and I have no idea what we’re even doing here! Where are we?”

“Well, Jess, it’s a college campus,” I say, condescendingly patting her on the top of the head, “Don’t worry, no one expected you to ever make it to one of these… unless you count a frat party or two.” I think it’s clever, and she must too as she suppressed a smirk.

“Oh, get bent, Josh,” she growls with an eyeroll, getting out of the car. 

Once we get inside the cafe, we quickly find some seats. I survey the whole audience, looking for the dork with the black framed glasses. I spot him like  _ Where’s Waldo _ … he’s even wearing an ugly striped sweater. He’s a few rows away.

“Chris!” I whisper harshly. “Christopher!” I try again. He’s fiddling around with his phone, oblivious to the world, as usual. Finally I cup my hands around my mouth, “ _ Oy!  _ Poindexter! Over here!” I shout. I get a few glares and shushes, but it works and Chris turns towards me, looking happy at first but then anxious. I wave him over and he gives a helpless shrug - he’s trapped between too many people to get to me. He holds up a finger and wiggles his cellphone at me, so I grab my cellphone out of my pocket and in a matter of seconds, Chris is calling me.

“Hey brooooski.  _ Broseph _ . Ja-Bro-ni.” I greet.

“Dude. What are you doing here!? I told you that Ash-”

“Oh, relax with yourself! I’m here to apologize! I’ve got a big plan. Huge.” I can see the apprehension on his face from clear over here.

“I don’t like the sound of this-”

“Oh quit worrying, ya big old baby,” I tease. “It’s gonna be great! I promise. Have I ever let you down?” I wink and hang up before he can begin to list allllll the ways in which I have. I glance down at my phone. Still nothing from Sam. “Hey Jess?” I whisper, leaning towards her. She’s texting someone at a rapid speed, almost supernatural. 

“Hmph,” she kinda grunts. Good enough for me. 

“Did… Did Sam say anything about me?” Jess keeps texting as though she didn’t hear me. “Jess…”

“Ugh!” she rolls her eyes, dropping her phone down. “Yes, okay! She said she had a good time with you last night, what else do you need from me? Ask  _ her, _ I’m not your messenger.” I smugly nod. It wasn’t so eloquent, but I can still appreciate it. There’s something about Jess’ sassiness that I can respect. I lean back in my seat, waiting for the lights to dim when I see a familiar face enter the room. Then another. 

First I notice Matt, who looks  _ suuuuper _ bummed to be here, like he’s going to a funeral. And does he just live in that fucking jacket? _ High school is over, buddy! You didn’t get a football scholarship. Move on. You’re taking classes part time at a community college... _

Then, latched onto him like a massive, scowling, angry leech is Emily… who’s wearing…  _ the bag. _ I can’t help but snicker to myself, because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry. I still can’t believe I spent $350 on  _ that goddamned _ -

“ _ Matt _ !” I yell out. “ _ Mattaaayyy _ !” The people around me groan because this is now the second time I’ve yelled. His head pops up and he glances around the room before his eyes find my face, where I’m waving enthusiastically. He smiles big, the first face that actually seems happy to see me; that kid could never hold a grudge. He waves back easily, but only until Emily smacks his hand down and gives me a glare before seemingly scolding him. I smile tightly and give her her own little wave, and she responds with the finger.  _ Looks like someone’s still a little salty...  _ They scurry off to find seats. Jess turns towards me, her patience running thin.

“Would you just sit still and stop causing a scene? God, it’s like I’m fucking babysitting,” Jessica snaps. “I don’t know how Sam puts up with you…”

Another face enters. It’s ruggedly handsome and I have a feeling it’s Jess’ turn to go a little batty. The whole gang is here! (well, almost. I’m missing a petite blonde at the moment.)

“Hey Mike!” I call out, and Jess’ eyes widen in horror at me. 

“You’re messing with me and it’s  _ not _ funny, Josh,” she drones very seriously. But no, I’m not. He nears us, tapping Jess on the shoulder. She closes her eyes and licks her lips, taking in a deep breath before she turns towards him. “Hello, Michael. What are you doing here?” 

Mike gives a bit of a shrug then runs his hand over the scruff of his face. He still looks much better than the last time I saw him, “Chris asked me to come… Just here to see the show.” Jess doesn’t respond, just stares at him and he kinda fidgets with his keys before clearing his throat, “Right, so… Good talk. I’m gonna-”

“Welp, I have to get backstage. Here Mike, take my spot,” I offer, popping up. Whatever shit they’ve got going on is between them. And if there is anything I’ve learned today, it’s that you can’t avoid a situation forever. Eventually, it’ll show up where you least expect it. (WOW! A whole moral to the story and it’s not even over yet!)

“ _ Josh _ !” Jess hisses through gritted teeth, looking like I’ve betrayed her. She’s just sitting with an ex, who is still clearly in love with her. She’ll live. I must be learning from Sammy just how to put people in their own personal hell. “Oh, Jess, make sure you record this. So Sam can see,” I add before I hurry away from them, and when I turn back, Jess is reluctantly scooting over a seat so Mike can sit beside her. I hope those two crazy kids can figure it all out.

Now, although I’ve been doing a good job at appearing pretty level (at least moreso than when I was freaking out at my house earlier), my heart is still beating hard in my chest. I still feel sick and scared for no reason. Still seeing weird, flashes of black figures in my peripheral. But the only time I feel normal anymore is when I’m with Sam, and I’m not allowed to see Sam until I’ve made things right with Ashley… even if that means making an utter fool of myself.

I get to the stage manager by the backstage door. He lets me know that the set’s full today. I slip him a $20. I feel a little weird about that, but I don’t have a lot of time to think about it right now. I’m trying to navigate through the dark, running into shit as I attempt to get to at least a crack of light to glance down at my notebook.

I am more nervous than I’ve ever been for anything in my entire life. I watch from behind as lame artist after lame artist grace the stage, spew their egos all over the place and then retire. Not long into the set, Ash goes. She’s really quite good at this. I want to die just thinking about going out onto that stage, and she makes it look so easy. 

I don’t really listen to her piece; it was different from the last one though, which I’m glad about since the last one was pretty much just about me and how awful I am. _ Whatever you gotta do to cope, sweetie.  _ Right when she’s in the middle of it, I see something out of the corner of my eye. Slowly I turn my head and I can’t decide if I am hoping that I am imagining things (Which means I’m still crazy) or what I’m seeing is real. Neither is a good thing. 

In the darkness of the backstage, I can see a tall, thin, white figure, stretching at an inhuman height and I swear I can see it’s teeth. Then I blink and it’s gone. This isn’t good. This is  _ not _ good. 

I hear the audience applauding, and just when people think it’s over, the stage manager runs out and announces that there’s one more, which means I’m on.  _ Okay, Josh. If you can sing ‘I believe in a thing called love’ in front of a bar full of people, you can do this. _ I take in a sharp breath and step out onto the light wood stage. I am literally blinded by the spotlight, and I hold my hand up.

“Can we maybe… bring the light down a bit?” I mutter into the microphone. After a few more agonizing, blinding seconds, it dims and I can see the audience; sure enough when I look in the front row, there’s Ashley staring back at me, her jaw dropped open. “Thank you,” I say way too close to the microphone, and it makes that metallic squeal that gets everyone all riled up. 

“I’m um… I’m not really a poet… But… here goes…

I used to have two sisters. And then I didn’t.

I used to have seven friends. And then I didn’t have them either.

Being surrounded by so many people to suddenly having no one can drive a man insane.

I know this doesn’t rhyme or anything. But I think it sounds pretty poetic, right?

It’s no different from what I’ve heard from all of you.

But… I  _ digress _ .”

I hear a couple giggles from the audience, a bit of light, approving murmuring. It… feels kinda good. Of course, I glance down at Ashley, who’s unable to look at me while she squirms in her seat.

“Dear Ashley,

I’m sorry that I made you just like me. I’m sorry that I broke you. I’m sorry that you have to look over your shoulder now like I do. I’m sorry that I made you feel crazy. I’m sorry that you have to talk to a stranger a couple times a week because you can’t stop the nightmares. I’m sorry because, even though I did this to you, I’m the only one who can truly understand it. I thought you stole my sisters. And then I thought you followed that up by stealing my best friend. Chris.” I point to Chris in the audience and he ducks down, almost out of sight. I really only did that to embarrass him. It was totally unnecessary. “I am here. Sorry. Doing something incredibly stupid and lame… not that YOU doing it is lame, I mean.. .just… I -” I stammer a bit and she narrows her eyes at me. I sigh. This is way longer than I wanted it to be. “Look. I can’t take back what I did, but I can sincerely tell you that I’m sorry for hurting you and in turn, I hurt the person who matters most to both of us.”

She doesn’t say anything. I don’t expect her too. I just walk to the end of the stage and hop off, walking out of the theatre and into the lobby of the cafe where I can finally breathe. Before the doors close behind me, I can hear their applause. 

Once I’m outside I make a quick promise to myself that I am NOT going to punch the wall again. Strangely enough, my panic attack is doing better now than it was before; maybe all that adrenaline from being onstage helps flush it out of my system. Jess and Mike are the first to make it outside, but they don’t notice me at first. They are too busy talking, which makes me feel that I’ve done two things right today. Mike looks happy, and Jess looks serious… two things you don’t see on either of their faces too often. I lean against the brick wall and put my hood up as I watch them. I put my sunglasses on and dig in my pocket for a piece of gum. Jess and Mike embrace, and Mike heads down to his car. When Jess turns around, she’s smiling again.. but it’s different this time. It doesn’t feel forced or plastered on or fake. She looks… _ happy.  _

Soon comes Chris, and he finds me immediately. They way he’s lurching towards me is hard to read; I can’t tell if he’s gonna hug me or kick my ass. I give a shrug.

“What? I said I was sorry,” I say and I can hear the defensiveness in my tone. Chris nods.

“I know. Thank you,” he replies. “She’s um… she’s taking a few moments to process it… She’s not ready to come out and see you yet, but… I think you really did it. I think you might have successfully apologized to someone.”

“What? I’ve apologized to all of you guys so far…”

“You jumped out at me at the park,” Jess replied flatly.

“You yelled your apology at me,” Chris added. 

“And he hasn’t even apologized to Sam-” Jess adds, and I wonder if Sam told her that or if she’s assuming. I guess the first one.

“Okay, fine. Yes, so far that was my _ nicest  _ apology. But… today’s been a weird day, okay? And I want all my friends back,” I admit, and I realize that’s the first time I’ve said it aloud. I do want my friends back. 

 

_ Except Emily. She **and** her bag can fuck right off. _

* * *

“How’d it go with Mike?” I ask after a bit of silence in Jess’ car. She just looks at me sideways and puts her fingers to her lips and twists the key. She’s not gonna tell me. I smile to myself. That’s better than even an hour ago.

I watch out the window as the world flies by us, the radio’s on and the song is pretty good, although I’d never heard it before now. 

 

_ “A year from now, we’ll all be gone. All our friends will move away. And they’re going to better places, but our friends will be gone away. _

_ Nothing is as it has been and I miss your face like hell. And I guess it’s just as well. But I miss your face like hell.” _

 

“Did you record my apology so Sam could see it?” I ask. Jess just nods. “I hope she likes it…” I say more to myself than to Jess. We ride a little longer, listening to the music. I roll down my window and let the cool spring air in, and it refreshes me as it runs through my hair and snaps against my skin.

This is the first time today that I feel like everything is going to be okay. Maybe the first time in even longer than that.

“Jess, this isn’t my street,” I inform her as we turn, but Jessica doesn’t even seem like she’s heard me. The street we turn onto next is familiar, and I know exactly where we are when she pulls up to the curb where she pulls the break.

Sam’s house.

“What are we-”

“Oh don’t play dumb with me,” Jess chuckles, shaking her blonde curls. “Go. Get your  _ reward _ ,” she says dramatically. “Listen, I’m tired of hearing you ask about Sam. You did what she asked you to do, now go  _ talk _ to her. Clearly you have a lot to say to her.” I look away from Jess and back at Sam’s house. I’ve seen it many times before, but it’s never seemed so ominous. I unbuckle my seatbelt slowly, trying to garner up the strength to do this. “And Josh? Don’t hold back,” she advises. I nod vacantly and get out of her car, leaning down to say goodbye.

“Hey, Thanks Jess. It was…” I search the air for the right word, but nothing comes to me. “Well, I didn’t hate it.” There. That’s nice, right?

“Gee,  _ thanks, _ ” she smirks. “I’ll be sure to make it to your next poetry jam…” 

“It’ll probably be  _ invite only _ but I’ll put you on the list.” She gives me a thumbs up. 

 

I walk up the path to her porch and I ring to doorbell before I can convince myself not to. I turn to see if my getaway car is still here, but Jessica peels out before I can run at full speed back to the safety of her car. I hear the doorknob turn and I snap my head back forward to see the door barely creak open. Sam’s face appears in the crack, but she won’t open the door more than that.

“Josh, what are you doing here?” she asks weakly, groggily. Rubbing her eyes like she was sleeping.

“I did what you asked… I apologized to Ashley. It was epic,” I promise, and I can feel the smile crack across my lips. I can tell I’m talking too fast and too much. “I even got an applause. You should have seen it, you would have been pretty impressed. Luckily Jess recorded i-”

“Josh,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “You can’t be here right now.” I hope I don’t look as disappointed than I feel.

“Oh… well… I thought you were just ignoring me because you wanted me to apologize to Ashley,” I assume. Sam smirks and it’s the first time since I’ve been standing here that I feel a little bit of relief. 

“No!” she chuckles, “well, yes. I wanted you to apologize to Ashley but Josh, I’m really, really sick. I’ve been sleeping and puking all day. I think I got food poisoning or something-”

_ Stupid vegans. _

“Ohhhhh… see, I thought you just didn’t want to see me anymore,” I laugh, bringing my hands up behind my head; I feel so much better now. “Well, why didn’t you tell me you were sick! I could have come taken care of you. Where are your parents?” I ask, trying to peer past her. She shakes her head, her forehead pressed against the moulding of the door.

“It’s their anniversary. They are out of town til tomorrow night,” she yawns, then groans, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Even with no makeup and bedhead and being sick, I’m fairly certain that Sam is still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I should tell her that. For once, I do. 

“You always look amazing.” She laughs at me and I know she can’t totally tell if I’m serious, but I know I am and I guess that counts for something. “Why don’t you just let me come in and hang out with you. I’m sure we could both use the company… Plus… I’m kinda getting used to you, and it feels weird not talking to you at all today.” She stares at me with those green eyes that remind me of those trees, flashing passed me on the road, they flicker now as if they actually are. She sighs, and I can tell from the faraway, toothless smile on her face that I’m wearing her down. That’s usually how I get what I want in most cases. 

Finally, she nods, cracking open the door. She’s wrapped in a big, fluffy blanket that is engulfing her whole body. I step up into her entryway and stare down at her before I wrap my arms around her blanketed body and lean down to give her a kiss. It’s soft. Slow. We part and she lazily opens her tired eyes.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she sings in a tease.

“I really don’t care.” I prove this by pressing my lips to hers again, and she seems a little more at ease this time. I am so glad she doesn’t hate me and that all that worrying was for nothing; I should have known better. Sam is the one and only person who’s never given up on me. I should have given her more credit.

“It might get a little gross,” she warns. “You enter at your own risk.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time I cleaned up your puke and it probably won’t be the last.” I shrug, closing the door behind us, all the while trying to pretend I don’t see a dark form standing and watching us from the end of her hallway.

* * *

_ To Be Continued... _


	12. I Of The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, way too long since my last update. (Was it seriously Feb last time I updated? I am so sorry...)
> 
> My friend died at the beginning of March. She flew into southern CA for a trip to visit family and go to her favorite place on earth (and mine!), Disneyland. After a grand total of 6 minutes in the car after she was picked her up from the airport, they were in a horrible car accident - hit head on by a huge F-350 Ford Truck… and she was ejected from the car, killed instantly. She was pronounced dead at the scene after only being there for 8 minutes. This chapter is dedicated to her and the terrible, wonderful, crazy journey that is life. Tell the people you love that you love them and always make sure they know it - you never know when something can happen in a matter of seconds.
> 
> So. I haven't updated in awhile because I started to write a super downer of a chapter, but decided it wasn't the direction I wanted to take it. Of course there is more serious content coming - I need to progress the story and as we can all see, Josh is beginning to unravel. So the humor and content might become a little darker as it goes. I'll be better at updating from now on - You'll be happy to know that Chapter 13 is already halfway done. I will not abandon this story - I love it way too much. And you guys.
> 
> P.S. The song in this chapter is amazing.

 

* * *

**Chapter 12:**

_I Of The Storm_

_aka_

_Monsters in My Mind are Scarier than the Ones In Real Life_

* * *

 

So, Sam lays off of me for a few days.

 

 

Maybe it's because she is too weak to fight with me, what with puking her guts out and all. Maybe it's because she doesn't have a car to cart my ass around in since it's still in the shop (I don't hate _that_ , actually. The world seems a little bit safer with her off the road). It could also be the fact that I successfully apologized to Ashley (Forgiveness Status: _Still Pending…_ ) so the forgiveness monster is temporarily appeased. Either way, I'm grateful because that shadow monster has been following me around for the last _three days_ and Sammy-dear does _not_ need to see that I'm steadily losing my shit.

_Again._

And, of course I don't tell _anyone_.

Because I'm supposed to be " _better_ " now, right? That's why I take the meds like they're candy and go to therapy and play nice and stuff. So when I'm sitting in Dr. Finke's office, pretending like the paint isn't withering and peeling off the walls and there isn't a tall, bony, long-limbed demon attached to the ceiling in the corner above his head, I do my best "normal person" impression. Once again, I neglect the fact that he is probably the person I should be telling these things to.

"You left quite abruptly last time you were here," he reminds me. He's good at reminding me of things I am already well aware of. He makes a loooooot of money off of my parents and our insurance company doing it. You'd think with all that extra dough he'd own more than one crusty, old button up shirt - even worse is that it's off-white, which gives it that perfect "dirty old homeless man" look he must be going for. But I digress.

Either way, statements like ' _you seem sad today_ ' when you _know_ your patient has manic depression hardly seem like breakthroughs.

"Yeah, I know," I reply, rubbing the back of my neck and trying not to make eye contact with the toothy, milky-eyed creature behind him - the one that looks like Hannah. At least… kind of. After she changed. All of _that_ part feels very foggy to me.

I do remember bits and pieces, though. Fragments. Sisters with rotting, peeling faces telling me I wanted them to die - you know. Fun stuff like that. I know now that these were just delusions - just like I know (or hope) this monster is an illusion too. But what is scarier? The monster being real or officially going off the deep end again?

I remember Mike slapping me, _the jerk_. Sure, I was totally batshit crazy at the time, but still. I also remember Sam's worried eyes, searching mine, saying something about Hannah being trapped down there for weeks… I can't even _begin_ to process that. I guess if I'm being honest, I still haven't. But I can remember that Sam just seemed happy to see I wasn't skinned alive with a wendigo munchin' on my femur or something (that's a bone in your shoulder, right? I didn't pay attention in anatomy).

And then I remember watching her climb out of the mines (more specifically I remember the way her ass looked in those wet yoga pants that clung to her like a second layer of skin. It left very little to the imagination) and wanting to call out to her but not being able to - tell her not to leave me with _Mike_ … that he didn't have the same soft spot for me that she did. I have no doubt that Sam woulda protected me that night, even if that would have been unfair to ask of her. But she climbed out and I was left in the care of our small-town hero and infamous fuckboy, Mike. (Okay, kinda harsh considering he and I have mended things but… truth hurts, Munroe. You gave that reputation to yourself.)

I can remember icy water all the way up to my chest. I _could_ make a penis/shrinkage joke about now, but you probably already beat me to it. I was so out of it at the time that I can't believe I remember any of it at all, really. All I knew to do at the time was keep the back of Mike's head in my eyesight, but then it was GONE. He just… disappeared. And to this day I'm not 100% sure what happened. All I remember is being hoisted high up into the air by this horrific creature with disgusting, putrid breath as it screeched in my face. And for some reason, I knew it was Hannah.

I just _knew_.

I have this odd feeling that she knew it was me, too. Otherwise, I have no other idea how I would have survived. I heard after the fact that those things were capable of ripping someone's head off - I guess Chris had seen it happen. But it spared me and I still don't know why. And between you and me...for a little while before Sam came along recently and forced me to make peace with everyone… I kinda wished it hadn't spared me. At least then I'd be with Hannah and Beth.

Somewhere along the way, as the thing (Wendi-something-or-other?) dragged me off, my head smashed into a rock or maybe I passed out from fear or something but I woke up cold, alone, and surrounded by bones and human remains that were in various states of decomposition. That part was _seriously_ not fun. I was worse than before - my mind and the visions. On top of that, my head was aching and bleeding somehow. I almost gave up. Just stopped fighting but...I swear I saw Hannah there with me towards the end. This time, she wasn't scary. She looked normal… no. _More than that_. She looked like an angel. She told me that she was okay. I asked if Beth was okay too, and she said 'Duhhh.' Then she told me to wake up.

And I did.

And I was at the hospital. I guess the rescuers found me pretty quickly, although I'm not too sure how, given the fact that they never found my sisters in all those months of searching. I just got lucky, I suppose. I don't understand how my sweet sisters got the short end of the stick, when a bastard like me just keeps getting these breaks.

...I need to stop thinking about all this, actually. It gives me one of those cutting headaches between my eyes… and it is making the creature's sharp, sinister grin stretch wide across its face from behind Dr. Finke's chair. _Like it's winning._

Instead, I stare too hard at a spot on the ground, so Finke cranes his neck to see what I'm looking at so intently. There's nothing there. His eyes flit back to me curiously. "I left like that last time because I was having a panic attack," I admit without shame.

"It seemed like it… triggered by the discussion of your sisters," he points out. And thanks, doc. Let's bring _them_ up again. 'Cause last time that went _soooo_ well. I hear the _click-clacking_ of the creature's bones as it changes positions, then scurries quickly out of my view. It's very hard to keep my eyes from following it, but I resist the urge. If Finke finds out this is happening, surely he will be tossing my crazy ass into the looney bin.

_Again._

Okay. Maybe that's where I _should_ be. Don't think I haven't thought about that already, guys. But… I'm building my life back up (slowly and imperfectly, just the way I like it). I'm really kinda stoked about seeing where things are gonna go with Sam. I have talked to Chris more times this last week than I have in the last… _God_ , well before my little prank on Mount Washington. I have _friends_ again (kinda?). I have _meaning_ again. I can't be backsliding like this. I can't get taken back to Ocean View. (No, really. I _can't_. They won't take my back anymore after the whole Dr. Hill thing. After the lodge fiasco in February I had to find another care facility, but they're all the same to me at this point.)

"Josh?" _Fuck._ I'm thinking too much about all of this. Gotta get my head on straight. My eyes travel back up to Dr. Finke and I try not to recoil when I see that his flesh it literally rotting off his face now - all greenish-blue and maggoty and shit. The worst part is he still has those beady eyes behind his glasses. Those haven't changed.

"Yeah." I choke out curtly.

"Joshua, would you like to try talking about your sisters again?" _Faaaaaack no_. Not with your face lookin' like Night of the Living Dead, _sir_. I shift in my chair uncomfortably. I feel these stinging, annoying tears manifesting in my eyes as my heart beats in my chest like the banging of a drum because even though I know it's not real (or at least I hope it's not)…. I'm so fucking scared right now. My palms are all clammy. I notice this when I hide my face in them. "Can you tell me what's wrong, Josh? Are you still taking your medication?"

" _Y-eeehhh-sss!_ " I call out, muffled through my hands. I'm not lying. It's the damn truth. The problem is that I don't think they're the right ones. Or they're not working anymore. I don't even know at this point. I guess my madness is stronger than modern medicine and if that's the case I should just end things now before I self-implode again and take everyone down with me.

These are not the thoughts of a sane person.

And I'm fully aware of it.

I assume this is probably what drowning feels like. Like, my dad and I used to watch Pearl Harbor (the horribly historically inaccurate Ben Affleck flick… but who cares because that Ben… what a dreamboat). At the time I was really little, but I remember all the men trapped in the USS Arizona… or Oklahoma? I didn't pay attention in history, either. But the water is just rising and rising and one guy looks at the other and says "this is it," and takes one last breath knowing it's over. He's a goner.

Yeahhh. That's what knowing you're going crazy feels like. And I can just try to claw myself out, knowing it's probably hopeless or I can just stop fighting, go limp and let the water fill my lungs.

_FUCK_ I'm a downer today, huh? Sorry guys. Just one of my moods, I guess. Maybe not having Sam around is wearing on me. She is good at distracting me from all these thoughts.

"Yes you'd like to tell me what's wrong or yes you're taking your medications?" I peel my sweaty hands from my face and everything looks... totally normal. I feel the air escape my chest in a refreshing exhale as I peer around the room. It's back to its usual, poorly decorated state. The monster is gone. For now.

"The medication part," I drone, only half paying attention now. I'm just so relieved that I'm free, even though I know it's temporary. My head snaps forward and I can look Finke in the eyes now that he is back to his normal, ugly ol' self. Man I missed that face. "Nothing's wrong." He sighs. Like he usually does when he thinks I'm being difficult. He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his coffee before setting the mug back down and switching gears.

"Are you still working on your letters?"

"Oh, yeah-yeah," I say quickly, nodding eagerly. "I've learned about half of them now. Having a little trouble at the _L-M-N-O-P_ part but… haven't given up yet." He doesn't look amused by my joke but I'm not interested in that. I feel my eyes grow wide and I sit forward because I've finally thought of something I actually wanna talk about before the hallucinations come back. Something he MIGHT actually be able to help me with. "Hey, Mr. Finke, what do I do about my dad?" I know he's annoyed I called him "Mr." instead of "Dr." It's kinda why I did it in the first place. He's corrected me a few times in the past but has since given up.

"You say you two haven't talked?"

" _Yeah,"_ I mumble, biting on the loose skin around my nails. "Yeah for like… _God_ … how long has it been?" I wonder. I can't remember the last time. "...almost five months? I mean… That can't be healthy, right? For him to flat out ignore me for all that time?" He thinks on this a moment and his eyebrows pull together into a look of concern. I'm eager to hear he is kinda on my side with this one. "And he _wonders_ why I have issues, am I right, doc?" I chortle. He takes off his glasses and his eyes seem to shrink in size. He's all business now.

"Joshua, please understand that your schizophrenia did not begin because of your upbringing. It's a very complex and hard-wired chemical imbalance," he corrects me. I want to roll my eyes but don't. Fool can't recognize a joke if his life depended on it. I'm actually now a little bummed he didn't like my alphabet joke a bit ago, now that I think of it. Either way, he continues on with, "...but I certainly don't think it's helping your progress." He acknowledges, which I appreciate, and starts flipping through my file and jotting some things down. It seems important. "Would you…" he pauses. He's treading lightly because he knows that just about anything could be a trigger for me.

"What?"

"How would you _feel_ ," he rephrases, "if we did a session with your parents." I laugh. A lot. He pulls himself back a bit, caught off guard by my totally _inappropriate_ reaction.

"No no no, that's a good one. I thought you didn't know how to joke around but you proved me wrong," I spit out through the laughter.

"What about this question amuses you?" he asks. He seems offended that I laughed in his face. I told myself never to do that to him - he hold the key to ending my probation. But this is just _too_ rich.

"I mean… c'mon. You've _met_ Bob Washington, right?" He gives a little shrug.

" _Briefly_ -"

"Right. Exactly. Briefly. Fleetingly. Elusively. That's how most people know my dad."

"Would you say there was ever a time that you and your father were close?" he asks, and I really hadn't thought about it in so long. When I was younger, my dad used to bring me to movie sets and I got to meet actors and crew men, and he always told them I was his protege. I remember when he bought me my first video camera, and he would help me make these awful short movies starring me and my sisters, which were usually just rip-offs of whatever I'd been obsessed with at the time - almost always horror.

Or Jurassic Park… _with cats_! It was… pretty anticlimactic, actually. And one of Beth's scratches she got when I launched Snowball at her head got infected and she had to go to the doctor.

The best time though was one fourth of July when I was like 14. He'd been gone a lot, and he was supposed to be shooting in New York, but instead he flew home just for the weekend to be with us. I think that was the last time we were all together and… _happy?_ Actually, Sam was there, too. Now that I think about it, a lot of my memories included Sam almost as much as my sisters. Didn't the dirty little vagrant have a home? Anyways… We took our boat (ok ok, it was a yacht) out into the bay and watched the local firework show from there. Hannah was sick from the rocking of the ocean, but we still had an amazing time together… and it was the last time I felt like we were a family.

I don't feel like explaining all that to Finke right now, so I just go with my standard"I dunno," and sink back into the lumpy chair. "Back when I was younger, I guess…"

"Well… I will give him a call this week and invite him to join us for a session, if you want," Finke offers. I feel one side of my mouth curve; the guy _means_ well. I just don't foresee Bob having the time nor the care to come sit and listen to me talk about my feelings and shit. I thank Finke and let him know he's welcome to try, but that I wouldn't hold my breath.

When I leave a bit later, the sun is shining - brightly and brilliantly. It is a sharp contrast to my dark mood. I hate being out in public again; not that I ever really got used to it. I feel myself twitching and looking over my shoulder, and it feels like other people notice that shit too. Probably just think I'm another tweaker looking for a fix. I only _wish_ it were that simple. I put in my earbuds and crank up the music just to distract myself from the demons.

A familiar song starts, I can recognize the military-ish sounding drums: I Of The Storm by Of Monsters and Men.  Instantly fitting, and the song is soothing my soul a bit. Just what I needed.

 

_If I could face them, if I could make amends with all my shadows_

_I'd bow my head and welcome them_

_But I feel it burning like when the winter wind stops my breathing_

_Are you really going to love me when I'm gone_

_I fear you won't, I fear you don't_

 

I miss Sam. Like… a _lot_. And I think her absence in my life is started to take a toll on my mental health. Not that I should ever tell her that. We've only been on one date - _talk about pressure._

I make a quick turnaround and before I know it, I'm walking to her house. I know I've been kind of avoiding her because I sure she's gonna notice something's up with me as soon as she sees me, but… I gotta be honest… she's the only good thing _in_ my life right now. I know, I know. I listed all those ways things were getting back to normal before, with Chris and having friends and all but…

She _likes_ me. Exactly for who I am. Flawed and all. And there's something about being in her presence that calms me, makes me think that everything is gonna be okay. I just feel so fucking lonely without her there to push me into awkward, social situations.

It's not a long walk, at least no farther than walking home. I used to hate how close she lived when were younger, always hangin' around and preaching about veganism and animal cruelty and all-in-all just crimping my style but now I just wish we'd been on 'making out' terms a whole lot sooner. At least then she woulda been doing a whole lot less talking, if you know what I mean. *wink*

 

_I feel it biting, I feel it break my skin  
_

_So uninviting, Are you really going to need me when I'm gone?  
_

_I fear you won't, I fear you don't_

 

That's enough of that. I take my headphones out of my ears and I raise my hand to knock on her front door. It swings open before I get the chance and Sam flinches, only a mere few inches away from me popping her in the face. That would have been smooth. A typical Josh-Wash move.

"Oh... hey," she says, pulling the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder. She seems surprised. Why wouldn't she be? I popped up unannounced… how does it feel to be encroached on, Sammy-cakes? "What's up?" she asks me wayyyy too casually for someone who has stuck her tongue down my throat. We've barely been able to talk for the last few days and I thought maybe she'd be a little more excited to see me. I convince myself that I'm being far too sensitive (a.k.a. A total pussy) and reading into this though. I _am_ crazy, after all.

" _Hey_ ," I cough, and then realize I'm an idiot right now, who came to see her with literally nothing to say to her - I have no reason for being here. As I peer past her in the doorway, I can see that the shadow's back, smiling menacingly from the hallway entrance. I swallow hard and clench and unclench my fists, trying to look as normal as possible, but she gives me a strange look and glances over her shoulder to see what I was looking at. "Haven't seen you in a while," I say quickly to direct her attention back at me instead. It works. She clears her throat and comes out onto the porch, closing and locking the door behind her. I wish that would stop the creature from following us, but I know it won't. I should warn her-

Wait, no I fucking shouldn't because it doesn't exist. Maybe I should warn her about me instead.

"I've been a little bit busy," she replies vaguely, and stares me up and down real quick, obviously noting my disheveled look. I'm feeling very insecure and I know she sees it, but she still has to ask, "Are you okay? You don't look so good…" _Aw, thanks for noticing, dollface._

"I uh… I haven't really been sleeping well." Or at all. Not with demons climbing my walls and scratching at my bedroom door. I've been camped out in the media room with an ever constant loop of netflix going. I'm on day three. "I'd probably sleep a lot better if you were there," I wink at her, feelin' smooth. She stifles a shy smile but it leaves as quickly as it came.

"Or _eating_?" she adds accusingly, tugging at my sweater a bit. _Shit._ She's right though. I can't remember the last time I ate.

"Hey who needs food anyway?" is my ambiguous response.

"Says the man who eats it from garbage cans..." she declares. Aw… I loved that burrito. Maybe I am a little hungry. She looks up at me before she kisses me on the cheek, and just like I thought I would, I'm feeling a little better by just being with her… but then her eyes won't meet mine as she heads down the pathway. She calls out over her shoulder. "You can talk with me and stuff, but you're gonna have to walk. I've got an appointment to get to." So I do.

"Car still in the shop?" I wonder aloud as I jog up to her to catch up, but I already know the answer. Duh. I am such a moron right now. I'm talking just to fill the silence. She just nods wordlessly. This is so unlike her and I can't really contain my acknowledgement of that for any longer. I stop in my tracks. "What's up, Sam?"

"What?" she says with a sharp intake of breath, like she is nervous or keeping something from me. I had sisters, I can tell when a girl is being evasive.

"You're being a little bit... weird," to put it bluntly. She shoots me a forced but reassuring smile. It's fake. I know the difference - I've become somewhat of an expert over the years.

"Just a little stressed, is all. I'm fine."

"Anything _I_ can help you with?" I ask as I shove my hands in my hoodie pockets and fall back into step with her. She's surprisingly fast for being so Hobbit-sized. "I don't wanna brag or anything but I've become _really_ good at fixing things when I'm not too busy destroying them."

"It's _really_ nothing," she stonewalls. There's no way I'm getting anything out of her, and she lets me know this by changing the subject. "Have you talked to Ashley yet?" she asks. I shrug.

"Still lettin' that one marinade. I _think_ she might be just a little bit mad that my slam-poetry session was better than hers," I joke. Sam huffs a short laugh out through her nose, shaking her head. "I am pretty sure I would have won an Oscar if it were in a movie. It was like my ' _O Captain, my Captain!_ ' moment. Woulda made Robin Williams proud, God rest his sweet soul" I say as I cross myself. _Specticals, testicals, wallet and watch._ She snaps her finger and bends her arm to say, ' _ah, shucks._ '

"Still disappointed I missed that one," she admits with a sigh. Her smile is a little more authentic again. "How about your dad?" What is it with that today? No one asked me about my dad in the last 5 months and suddenly now he's the theme of the day.

"Oh, yeah. We are _tooootally_ simpatico, now. We have a father-son fishing trip coming up," I say sarcastically, but the usually sharp-minded Sammy misses the tone entirely and looks up at me.

"Really?" she asks with wide eyes. I shake my head and raise an eyebrow.

"Uh… no. I was joking." Jokes are _never_ funny once you have to explain them. Sam just says 'oh' and we keep walking. We're already back to town. It's weird again. I shake it off. "So… _where_ are we going?" Sam glances at me sideways, and once again I can tell she's nervous - it's glaringly obvious because it's not a natural state for Samantha the Brave to be in. I'm having a hard time deciphering what has changed about our dynamic since the last time I saw her… maybe I did something to upset her? Maybe she's having second thoughts about me? I'm sweating again, but I wipe my forehead before she can see it. Fucking anxiety, always making me assume the worst. I try to tell myself I'm reading into it. Everything is fine. We're _fine_.

"I um… I told you, remember?" No. I don't. And she didn't. She's a dirty, dirty liar. She keeps walking forward, and I don't like the way she won't look at me again. She fidgets with her hands. It's like she's about to deliver me some bad news. "Um… it's really not a big deal," she spurts out quickly, shaking her head. "I just… um... I have to meet with the admissions coordinator for...you know…" her words trail as she garners up the courage to finish her sentence. "My transfer." _Whoop, there it is._ First Chris going to MIT, and now this? I stop walking, and I see her tense and turn back towards me, wincing a bit.

"Liiiiike… to another school?" I say quietly, and now I can't look at _her_ face because I know the look she's giving me; that sad, sympathetic pity look. She sighs.

"I had to go back _eventually_ -" she reasons.

"Yeah but _here_. You were going to go back _here_." My voice is embarrassingly high while I say this. "Was this always part of your plan or-"

"My parents just think a change of scenery-" I'm not letting her finish her sentences because I know what she's going to say before she even says it. Connection, remember? We have a fuc _KING CONNECTION AND SHE'S BREAKING IT_.

"Oh, fuck that," I blurt, and her eyebrows lower and pull together. She didn't like that. "Since when do you care what Mary-Beth and Leonard think?" Coming into my life, stirring it all up and then bouncing? RUDE. _RUDE RUDE RUDE, SAM._ Like, I thought she was rude before but no one in the history of rudeness have ever done anything this...rude.

" _Hey…_ " she says, wounded. I'm kinda shifting my weight on my feet because now I can't sit still. I want to crawl out of my own skin. "...it was my therapist's idea." _What? Therapy? Since when?_

" _What?_ Therapy? Since w _hen_?" my words mirror my thoughts. She drops her face in her hands and breathes deeply, shaking her head, trying to keep herself together as well. "Sam, why didn't you tell me you're in therapy? We could have bonded over how insane we both are." _Now is not the time for jokes, Joshua._ But seriously. Therapy? How did I not know this? When did she even have the time? Her head falls back and she holds onto the strap of her bag like a parachute, lightly biting her lip. I'm making her upset. Fuck, I don't wanna do that.

But also, this dark part of me that's been trying to get out for days, kinda does.

"I didn't tell _anyone._ For a while there, _I_ didn't even believe I needed it. I kinda wanted everyone to believe I was as strong as they told me I was…" she says so sadly, and it kinda makes my heart ache - I hate feeling stuff. _I did this_. "I wanted to believe it."

"When did you start going?" I ask. A part of me hopes it was _before_ my prank, to cope with the loss of my sisters or something. It's very hard to actually care about her now and know that I broke her, too. I always just thought she was fine.

She had always said that.

' _I'm fine.'_

"I started going after the boy I thought the world of chased me around a creepy old basement in nothing but a towel," she admits, and I try really, really hard not to notice the tears in her eyes as she says this. "I thought… I thought that being around you and helping you was going to give me some sense of peace but lately I've been having nightmares again and-" I know I should be focusing on the important parts of this, like how I emotionally and mentally scarred my almost-girlfriend, but the world is warping around us again, wavering in and out of an alternate sense of reality. First the color begins to drain, then it darkens. A man passes by us but his face is covered in blood. And I know he is walking a dog, but all I can see is a pig at the end of his leash, it's entrails dragging behind it. Fucking disgusting, I know. I don't know what's wrong with me. "-I wasn't expecting to _feel_ the way I do about you now-" she says.

And now Sam's in a towel. Even though I know she's not.

"Josh?" Her words sound underwater. "Are you okay?" I rub my eyes roughly. My head is throbbing. This was an awful idea. When my eyes adjust back to the daylight things are normal again - this is getting really fucking old already. And it's steadily getting worse and more frequent now.

"So, you're just leaving then?" I ask again flatly, trying to understand what's happening here. So far I have this: Sam isn't as strong as she pretends. She thought being around me would make it better but I've just made her worse, even though she seemed fine (there's that word again) only days ago (because I fucking ruin everything that I touch). And now she's leaving to get away from me before I ruin her some more because she found herself having feelings for me that she wasn't expecting. _Got it_.

"Look, I just- I didn't want to _upset_ you and you've been doing _so_ good-" Ew. She said that to me like a preschool teacher telling a child why she put them in time out. But she's got the right idea about trying not to upset me - I'm a lunatic. And this is why she's been avoiding me the last few days, I realize. Sure, I've been avoiding her, but I've tried that in the past and she would just crawl through my bedroom window. I should have known something was up when she stopped breaking and entering. Lately she hasn't even tried. And now I wonder if she was ever even sick or if she was starting to separate herself, passing the big mess on to Jess. (Yeah, yeah, it rhymed but that is seriously so not important right now!) Did our date set this whole thing in motion?

"Transfer to _where_?" My throat is dry. I swallow anyways.

"Josh I… it's time for me to go back to college… to _life_. And maybe you should, too! I know things have just been so fucked up for so long now but…" she stops talking, sucking in a deep breath and looking up at me with those sad eyes that make it hard to be mad a her, so I look away. "I just want to finish my degree…" she tries to explain, stepping back towards me. She never answered my question. Her hands come up to rest on each of my biceps; it doesn't have the same calming effect it usually does. I fight the urge to shrug them off of me. To anyone else this news would be pretty normal. To me, it's life-altering. What am I supposed to do without her now that I actually have her? Wait… did I actually have her? I'm not sure about anything anymore.

" _Okayyyy…_ but, like... what's wrong with finishing it here?" _SHE DOESN'T WANT TO BE NEAR YOU_ , I scream at myself in my head. I want to punch myself for sounding so goddamned needy. In fact, she has permission to punch me for being so needy. I rub my hands roughly over my face and through my hair before resting them behind my head. I finally look at her, and she looks guilty. Ashamed. _Fuck_ , I never want to make her feel that way. She shouldn't. She just wants to go on with her life. I should understand that. But instead, all I hear is that another person I love is leaving me.

Wait… _love_? Ew. When did _that_ happen?

"I'm still going to visit-" she promises, trying to bandage the gaping, open wound. I laugh. That one little phrase sends me into defense mode.

"Yeah, you'll come back to visit when you're not too busy banging your environmentally friendly new boyfriend you meet at a protest named Skye or something gay like that…" I grumble and I can tell that statement was completely over the line. And she doesn't even deserve it. She narrows her eyes at me.

"That was low, even for you, Josh."

"Even for _me?_ " I say, my voice much louder than I had planned. I like the way it feels. Because just like that time outside of the douche-cafe (when I punched the wall), I'm suddenly so so so so mad. Because Josh Washington doesn't just get sad. He just gets pissed. The sadness I was feeling before is shifting to hot, boiling anger. It always does. "Even for _ME_ , Samantha?" I yell this time. She shushes me and looks around apprehensively - probably making sure there are no brick walls nearby. "Wasn't it _you_ who forced your way back into my life and wasn't it _you_ who climbed through my window and wasn't it _you_ who kissed me first and wasn't it you-"

" _Josh_ , you're making a scene," she says through gritted teeth, her face red with embarrassment as people pass by. I don't even care. I feel a bony, white, sharp-nailed hand slink over my shoulder. My monster is behind me, egging me on. I can feel my eyes darken, I can literally feel myself becoming possessed. If it had been even 10 minutes ago I might have fought it. Now I don't even see the point.

"Did it all mean nothing?" I dare. She steps forward and takes my face in her hands, very seriously. I want to move but her hands are so soft and I can't deny the way being touched by her makes me feel, even though I hate her right now. "Was this some kind of payback for you? Because you got me, Sam. It was a really fucking good one-"

"Of course not. Josh," she says, her voice shaking. She's trying so hard not to cry. "I can't even _begin_ to explain what this has meant to me. What _you_ mean to me-"

"Why would you come back into my life just to leave me?" Ohhh yeah. I'm soundin' real pathetic now. I hate myself and I want to die.

"I'm not _leaving_ you. I'm just-"

"Getting on with your life? That's great for _you_ Sam, but what am _I_ supposed to do with all these feelings?" I jerk away from her and she quickly wipes her eyes.

"Not everything is about _you_ and _your_ feelings," she seethes. Oh, sheeee's mad now. Like she has a right. "I lost people I loved too!" I laugh. In her face. _Awesome_. Basically I am now at the point of full on self-sabotage. I'm gonna end this before she can. Fuck her for making me feel things that I never asked to feel. Fuck her for making me _love_ her. It was so much simpler when I hated her.

"No, no. You're right, Sam," I nod condescendingly. "You lost your friend of what… a few years? I lost my fucking _family_! I lost _everything_!" I scream. Forget it. I am so _fuuuuhhh_ -cking outtahere. I turn from her sharply and step off the sidewalk into the bike lane in the road.

" _Josh-_ " she tries. I turn back towards her. I know this is overwrought and overdramatic but… how else would you expect me to act?

"And now I'll just add you to the list of people I've lost. Good to know where we stand. _Awesome_." I keep walking, but then turn one more time. "I'm glad I didn't let myself get too invested in you, considering the fact that you're just bailing."

"Get out of the road!" she commands, her voice hoarse.

" _Fuck you_ , you're not allowed to tell me what to do. _You can't tell me what to do anymore!_ " I shout. I shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking across the road and back towards the direction of my house. I should have known better.

I fucking _knew_ better.

" _Hey_!" A deep male voice calls out, and I can't be too sure if I imagined it. I turn around to see one of those douchey bicycle cops has rolled up to the scene. "Son, you need to come over here," he demands. I roll my eyes. You've got to be kidding me.

" _Really_?!" I huff out, and he just nods and waves me over.

"What's all the commotion?" he asks before looking over at Sam. "Ma'am are you alright?" _Oh suuuure_. Take _her_ side. Everyone likes the cute blonde one… little do they know she's a big can of PURE EVIL. Sam is spouting off that nothing is wrong and that we are "fine." (Can you be _ANY OTHER ADJECTIVE, SAMANTHA?!_ )

"I don't need your help," I spit at her. She instantly shuts up and folds her arms over her chest, watching on nervously.

"I _said_ come over here," he repeats with more authority. I exhale a huge sigh and drag my feet over to him as he takes out his little ticket pad. I can hear a faint growling in my ear, and I know this thing has latched itself to me. I am actually terrified of what I might do next, especially in front of an authority figure. "What's your name?" he asks. I shrug and ask why, he just repeats the question even more irritatedly so I give it to him. "Do you have identification." I roll my eyes and dig through my wallet to hand him my ID. My picture in it looks like a mugshot. He studies it and starts scribbling something down on his pad before he rips a ticket off and hands it to me with my ID.

"Are you serious?" I ask, staring down at the violation. _Jaywalking._ I hold it up in his face. "Are you _fucking_ serious?"

"Jaywalking is a violation in-"

"No. No way. This is bullshit; no one enforces this!" I am yelling at a cop. WTF am I thinking. The _good_ Josh that is currently being overran with the bad Josh is screaming inside of me. _What are you doing? WHAT are you doing? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

"You can contest it in court, but I am standing-" I rip the ticket.

" _Josh, no_!" I hear Sam gasp from a ways away. My eyes flit over to her and she's hiding her face in her hands, peeking out at the scene unfolding. The sound of the paper being torn fills the space between us myself and bicycle cop as I rip it again the other direction. I toss it on the ground and before I know it he's got me handcuffed and sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for "backup." I didn't even know Tour De Policia-men carried cuffs. I am even more curious where he was hiding them in those skin-tight cycling shorts.

"Why do you need backup?" Sam asks worriedly.

"Because _Sam_." I say with malice from the curb. My head feels wobbly. "He can't very well take me to jail on the back of his little tricycle." I need to take my pill but that's not gonna happen anytime soon.

"That's enough outta you," he snaps. He leans down in my face and lifts his sunglasses to stare me down, trying to get a good read on me. I can't meet his eyes, and I know I look must insane. He tries to get me to follow his finger; he thinks I'm on drugs. I wish that where the case! We could just cart me off to rehab in Malibu instead of on my way to the cuckoo's nest. He asks Sam if I am on any "illegal substances," but she says no. He doesn't seem to believe her because I'm not really helping my case by comfort rocking back and forth, fighting off imaginary demons, cursing Sam's name and wondering just what the hell I was thinking. I'm having flashback of being tied up in the shed at the lodge, and it is only adding to the hallucinations and the euphoric detachment from reality I'm currently experiencing.

This is what happened before, when I was planning the big prank on everyone at the lodge. Only that time, it was much more gradual. This onset has hit my like a bus and it's like I know right from wrong but I can't control these impulses.

A squad car pulls up and his siren gives a lil' _woo-OOP_ before he turns it off and hops out. This is the same cop who was at my parent's the night we went over to Mike's. I groan to myself because this guy is not too friendly, "See Sam. This is a real police officer. Not one of those lame meter-reader cops they don't trust with a car-"

"I _said_ shut it," bicycle cop repeats. I'm _reallllly_ bad at getting arrested. If I weren't handcuffed I'd cover my own mouth to keep from saying anything else damning.

"Josh, _stop_ ," Sam begs, shaking her head at me. I hate that she's still here. Go to your appointment that was _sooooo_ important just a bit ago, Sam. The cops are talking about what to do with me, and before I can truly process what's happening, I'm being shoved into the back of the patrol car. Sam rushes up, asking what the charges are.

"He didn't do anything to deserve to be arrested," she defends. And although I'm not at a place where I'm too anxious to be agreeing with her, she's right. Technically I didn't do anything to warrant an actual arrest (jaywalking and littering aside, but those things are not a cause for being taken down to the station). I didn't assault the cop or resist arrest….wait, did I?

And now I find myself curious what the charges are, too.

"You're right, Miss. Nothing illegal about being disrespectful to an officer of the law. But _this_ kid's on probation, and I'm relatively certain he's under the influence of something. So we need to take him down to the station while we sort this all out," he explains so both of us can hear.

"I want my lawyer!" I yell dramatically. "You cops are brutalizing me!" I can't help but laugh (like a maniac) as curious lookie-lou's pass by. "Rich kid's lives matter!" Sam goes on to tell the officers that I'm sick, and it makes my head fall back as I groan in irritation. She's making me sound like some misunderstood victim. I'm well-aware that my actions today were gonna get me in trouble. Part of me thinks I might have even wanted it. Maybe this is what Dr. Phil would call a 'cry for help.'

"Please, I can take him home, he needs a hospital-" Sam coaxes. The cops look at each other but I don't fucking wanna be near her.

"No, let's just GO!" I shout, closing my car door with my elbow, somehow. They all just stare at me with wide, wondering eyes. "I don't want to go with her. She's a monster. Just take me to jail, I don't care." They shrug and talk for a few more moments, I just close my eyes and lean my head back, hoping that the spinning feeling in my head will stop soon.

As we drive off, I take a quick look behind in the rear-view window to see Sam watching on helplessly. I wanted to get away from her. This is one way, I guess. So I can't complain.

* * *

_To Be Continued…_

_Sorry for the drama._

_Blame Josh because he's a moron._


	13. All I Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We are nearing the beginning of the end, guys. Had to happen eventually. I am thinking there are about 2 or 3 more chapters after this one. I just wanted to thank you all for your awesome reviews and genuine love for the story. This was by far my favorite story to write (aside from my collabs with Enula). It was complicated and fun and I am gonna miss this universe. But don't worry. I have a LOT of Jossam ideas still in me, even though the fandom seems to be dying off. (Check out Twist of Fate.)
> 
> This fic is gonna have to get emotional before it can get funny again. Sorrynotsorry.

 

* * *

**Chapter 13:**

_All I Want_

_aka_

_The 3-Hour Stint in the Clink that Made Me a Hardened Criminal_

* * *

_So. We meet again._

This is what jail is like, huh?

It really isn't as bad as I had imagined - I blame HBO for my unrealistic expectations of the prison system. There's a lot less shanking than I was led to believe. I would say a lot less gay prison sex as well, except that the pat-down that I got walking in was definitely _pushing_ it.

My dark, dank holding cell seems an awful lot like the mines to me.

...At least from what I can remember of the mines. It's chilly but stuffy at the same time, and I can't seem to find the source of the cool air. It's dreary, even though the rest of the police station was pretty well-lit. One florescent light above my head is flickering, flick _ering_ , _flickering_. It's making my eyes hurt. But the most reminiscent part of the mines is that I am completely and utterly alone - which, as it turns out, is not my favorite thing when I'm insane.

 _Sane_ Josh _likes_ his alone time. He uses this time to eat lots of food without shame, jerk off, watch awful 80's movies he can quote every line of... and then maybe jerk off again. When I was younger - when I was _normal_ \- I loved shutting myself off in my room far and away from the theatrics of two sisters. I mostly passed my time surfing the internet (porn) and pirating movies (mostly porn) and generally just having a gay ol' time (ummm... _not_ porn. No, really, I swear… that one time was completely by accident and I turned it off as soon as I figured it out).

But then there's _craaaaazy_ Josh - I'm having a hard time differentiating the two anymore, but hell. You all know that already, don't you? That there is this broken part of me that just flips off like a light switch. The side of me that comes up with these messed up scenarios to throw my friends into without actually grasping the repercussions of it all. It's also the same part of myself that is seemingly _so_ terrified of being alone that it makes me imagine 'friends' to ease that loneliness…

So, now I am sitting on the bench in the holding cell, all curled up like a scared child as I wait to see what's gonna happen next. It could be anything. My mind is an adventure. I should just stretch out and try to sleep, but I'm still being watched by... _something._ I am just not sure what it is yet. Before when it felt like something was watching me it was different. It was the shadow monster, but part of me feels like _he_ went away the moment I let him into me instead, so there's something else now. Something… _new. How exciting for me!_

I can just _barely_ see into the cell directly across from mine. It was empty before, but now I see movement. I groan because I don't know what's real or not but I am a curious cat by nature so of course I slowly stand up and approach the bars of my cell, squinting to see into the other. I see two girls sitting on the ground, coloring. Dark hair. Probably about 7 or 8 years old (IDK tho, because I have never been too good with guessing ages, weight, baby genders or having an accurate gaydar - I just kinda assume everyone is gay until they prove otherwise. Like most of Tumblr).

They aren't saying anything, just intensely focusing on their drawings in front of them. One of the little girls is humming, and it sends a chill down my spine once the song becomes clearer to me.

_Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques,_

_Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?_

_Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines_

_Ding ding dong, ding ding dong._

Halfway through, the other little girl other joins in. An infinite, creepy loop that makes me cover my ears and back away slowly from the bars of my cell slowly. What the fuck are kids doing in here anyway? Oh. _Right_. They probably aren't. I squeeze my eyes shut and continuously whisper, "this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real, _this isn't real, this isn't-_ "

When I open my eyes, I'm in the mines. "Ah, _fuuuuhckkk,_ " I groan. Not again. And I'm also in those stupid fucking overalls that I stuffed with padding to make myself look bigger than what I am - I still find it slightly humorous that aside from the overalls, I kept my brown undershirt and shoes on… and yet no one I tortured that night even noticed. I look up at what was the flickering fluorescent light, now the dying light of the day, broken up by something jumping across the opening and casting shadows.

I crouch down and cradle my head in my hands - I need my fucking meds. Even if they aren't working, I need them. Maybe they won't make the visions go away, but maybe at least take the edge off. "-n't real this isn't real this isn't real-"

"Take a chill pill," a voice says from the shadows. I recognize it immediately -

Hannah's voice was always just a fraction of an octave higher than Beth's. She steps out into the light and I've already prepared myself for whatever horrific state she might be in when I see her… but instead…

She's just… _Hannah_.

Well. _Mostly_.

I'm frozen where I stand, and when I glance down at my hands I'm gripping onto the gas tank I carried around that night. I drop it suddenly and the sound it makes when it hits the stoney ground of the cavern is a resounding, hollow _tinkkk_. It rolls by my feet and I hop away from it as though it were a firecracker about to pop. I look up at Hannah, who's watching me, her arms folded and an eyebrow raised. Her glasses are broken, but still on her face.

"And just what kinda trouble have _you_ been getting into, now?" she asks, stepping towards me. The closer she gets, the more I can see the subtle graying of her skin, the bruising on her bare arms… her dry, cracked lips. Even still, I go to her. Fuck, I _run_ to her. She's my baby sister and hallucination or not, dead or not, I want to hold her in my arms, damnit. When I hug onto her I can hear her bones crack under the pressure, but I don't stop. Because I know this isn't real. And that means I can't actually hurt her. I pull back and hold her at an arm's length, taking in the sight of her. It's almost right. Sure, she's a little on the dead side, but not as bad as the way I've imagined before.

She snaps her head to the side and I hear the bones in her neck pop into place, she gives me a toothy smile. They're a little too sharp.

"We've missed you," she promises me, her scaly, cold hands reaching up to cup my cheeks. She uses her thumb to wipe away a tear that I wasn't even aware had been running down my cheek. She said _we_. I close my eyes and wait for what I know is coming.

"Took you long enough." The second voice isn't menacing, either. Not like how they usually were in my delusions. _Unmistakably_ Beth. I turn to see her coming at me from the other side of the open, cavernous area we're loitering in. It's like a goddamn family reunion.

Beth looks like she's about in the same stage of decomposition as Hannah - _damn_ , that's a sentence I never thought I'd say.

I'm not freaking out.

I'm oddly, eerily calm.

I have them both in my arms now, and we're weeping together like a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie. I should be terrified but… _God_. It's so good to see them, no matter what state they're in. Even if they aren't real. I haven't imagined them in so long. It makes me realize how much I've missed them. I don't even care that I'm batshit crazy right now - It is worth it to be able to see them.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to die-" I begin, but Beth slaps me right off the bat. Like, flat out hits me. I'm startled, but it sobers me instantly. I needed it. My hand shoots up to soothe my stinging cheek. " _Ouch, what the fu-_ " She grips onto the blue collar of my workshirt.

" _Don't_ start that shit again, Josh. We don't have time for that. We _know_ you didn't want us to die. _You_ know we know that," she scolds, sternly. I am confused, but that's nothing new. I'm _usually_ confused. We are finally together - what else could be more important than that?

"Josh, we need to talk about something else," Hannah cuts in, and they look a little worse than before, but I know that's just in my head. It's _all_ in my head. I just try to keep reminding myself of this over and over and over again. Even still, I humor myself and see what it is I think they need to tell me. They look at each other apprehensively, then back at me. "We just… we _think-_ " Hannah starts to tiptoe, but Beth ain't got time for this shit.

"You need to stop being such a shithead," Beth demands quickly. My mouth drops open because this is hardly what I was expecting. "To mom, to your friends… to Sam…" She lets that last one linger. I am a little bothered that they brought her up. Or that they know all of this. But then again, they only know what I know. They. Aren't. Real. They were, but they're not anymore.

"She's leaving. Just like you guys-" I begin to say after a moment, and I'm kinda thinking Beth wants to hit me again, but doesn't. I'm glad. I don't remember her being this violent. Maybe my mind is getting her mixed up with Sam and my own self-loathing.

" _Oh_ , give it a _rest_. She's not leaving you like we did, you moron. She's still _alive._ " Wow. Okay. Imaginary Beth is a dick. She's got me by the shoulders now and I don't struggle to get away because I've missed her so damn much I'm willing to take the abuse. "You've always been like this, Josh. _Such_ a victim. You need to get your shit together. You're gonna mess up everything you've worked so hard to fix. Was that spray in the face with mace for nothing?" Truth hurts. But still. She's being a little unsympathetic of my heartache, here.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do without her." Hannah steps in now. I can always count on her to care ore than Beth. Her nurturing eyes meet with mine. It's _true_ though. It's hard to remember _not_ having Sam in my life - how did I even deal those few months after the fallout? I don't even remember what I did with my time, other than therapy and pretty much not getting out of bed.

The depression is real. I know that now. I have a laundry list of issues, but isolating myself and closing myself off to love and forgiveness never helped. It still doesn't help. And I was finally learning how. She was helping me. And now she's _leaving._

"You're gonna handle it," Hannah says to me with confidence. It sounds so simple when she puts it that way and I might even be on board with that, but then she adds, "and you're gonna hafta let her go, Josh."

" _What?_ " I breathe. No. I don't wanna let her go. I wasn't expecting that advice from the biggest, most hopeless romantic I have ever met, but she means it. And it stings like a motherfucker because she is right. They both are. _I'm_ the real dick, here.

"And you're gonna tell Dr. Finke that you're losing it, bro-ski," Beth says. I nod. Because what else am I gonna do? Argue with my invisible, dead sisters? I'm gonna hafta let her go. Because I _gotta_ get better, and my inability to let my sisters go is the whole reason the night on the mountain happened in the first place… it's the whole reason why I ruined my own life. And everyone else's. I can't drag her down with me. I don't blame her for needing to get away from me. I'm too much. I've always been too much. Always felt things _too_ deeply and always taken things _too_ far - it's kind of a talent at this point. A carefully crafted skill.

It's so fucking exhausting to be me. I'm tired of being tired of just existing.

"Can I just go with you?" I ask pathetically. They exchange looks again, that weird, psychic twin thing happening that always did when we were younger - as though they could communicate telepathically. It always made me feel left out. They both shake their heads, but it's Hannah who answers.

"No, dude. You _tried_ that, remember?"

_Right._

_Rightrightrightrightright._ She's talking when I tried to kill myself after they went missing. It's true. I did do that. That's why I went to Ocean View and met Dr. Hill and all that. That's why I had to stay a whole month…

" _Really_ dumb move, Josh. Being dead sucks. You're lucky you're still alive," Beth promises. I shake my head because this conversation has taken a very morbid turn and it can't be good for me. Hannah nods in agreement though, and I can tell they have no intention of dropping this.

"You know, you really should be _thanking_ Sam for that, by the way…" she adds cryptically. I snort. That's rich.

"Oh, _Sammy?_ You mean the one who left me with Mike? The one who never came to visit me at the hospital? _Please._ I've had enough hero-worshipping where she's concer-"

"You know she told the rangers where to find you, right?" Hannah deadpanned. Her dark eyes are intense and dark but they look hollow. I shrug. I am going to try really hard not to let this ( _new?_ Did I already know this and just block it out?) information faze me. Anyone could have told the rangers-

"No one else did, Josh," Beth says. Great. Now they can read MY mind. It's actually not as great as I thought it would be. I wonder if Beth heard me call her a dick earlier. "Sam is the one who told them to go down there and find you, even after Mike gave her _no_ reason to believe you were even _alive._ And if it hadn't been for her…"

"You would have ended up like me," Hannah finishes. She means a monster. A wendigo. I don't know if I would have even gone the whole amount of time down there without caving and eating one of those bodies I found. It's a super gross thought. I forgot what Hannah did to survive… and worse, what her struggle for survival turned her. There's a chill in the air; I hide in my hoodie, pulling the hood up and sitting back on the bench.

"Or like _me_ ," Beth says, stepping towards me and pulling the hood back down. Dead. I could be dead right now. It makes me feel weird to think about because even a few moments ago I might have preferred it over being alive and defective. But… I can hear the faintest voice inside of be screaming out: I want to live. I close my eyes and sigh, cradling the bridge of my nose in my hand as I try to keep one of those stinging headaches at bay - I should probably check and see if that's a tumor or something. "You can't hide from the truth, Josh. Just like you can't hide from your demons."

I feel a smile curve my lips, "That's what you think. I've been evading them for a _loooong_ time."

When I open my eyes they're gone and I feel a little more full and empty at the same time.

" _Washington_. Let's go," an officer calls out, and I sigh in relief. I was pretty sure they were just gonna hold me until they were sure I wasn't some druggie… I am just relieved there were no cavity searches involved. I turn back to where my sisters were one more time but it's exactly what I thought. No one is there. Definitely, officially, 100% no doubts about it: I've lost it.

It's time to get back to reality whether I like it or not, though. My stomach is suddenly in knots because although I am a free man (for now), I have no idea if this little indiscretion is going to be on the judge's desk tomorrow morning. Or if Finke's gonna find out and know I've been lying about being better.

The officer unlocks the cell and I drag my feet over to him, because I have a bad feeling about just who they called to come get me. Mom or dad. There is a 50/50 chance here and -

Of _course_ it's my dad. Because I am a super lucky person and the world loves to shit on me. ( _I did it to myself, blahblahblah, always a victim, I know. Shut up. Shutupshutupshutuppppp_ )

 _Fuck._ I mean, I wanted to have it out with him, but the awkward drive home after adding yet another reason why he is ashamed of me to his mounting list was not what I had in mind.

He's standing there, signing some kind of release. I know he sees me coming but he won't look at me. He's listening to the officer explain the charges. Or, as it turns out, the lack of charges.

"-and given the fact that he's not well and passed the drug test, we've decided not to press any charges. We know your family's been through a lot-" I stop listening because I got the important part: I'm off the hook. At least where the law is concerned. And at least for now. My dad, however, is a different story. He's gonna murder me.

"You're free to go," the other officer says to me, putting a small box up on the counter with my possessions inside. I reach into and retrieve my superspy phone and my kiddie phone, shoving them in my pocket, hoping my dad didn't see. He just gives me a brief glance before turning and walking out of the station without a word. Once he makes it out the front doors, I turn back to my ' _friends_.'

"You sure I can't stay here?" I ponder. The officers ignore me; they are more focused on the hooker being brought in. What's a guy gotta do to get some sympathy around here? I suck in a staggered breath and leave, hoping whatever my dad has to say to me won't be _too_ painful. I shove my hands in my pockets and get to his car, waiting for him to say something, really anything, to me. He presses unlock and opens his driver's side door. He's not speaking, so I decide I'm gonna dive right in.

"Dad, I didn't meant t-"

" _Get in_ ," he snaps curtly without even looking at me. I swallow but step towards him. I can feel my eyes filling with tears and it _pisses me off_. Makes me feel like such a child. He _always_ makes me feel like a child. Always smaller than him. It doesn't matter how small he is, I always have to be smaller.

"Wait, dad, I'm serious. I wanna explain-"

"Get. _In._ " Well, damn. I'm not sure I have any other option… besides maybe booking it as fast as I can towards the border… but _shit,_ my passport is in my sock drawer.

Two words in 5 months. (Technically _4,_ since he said it twice.) _Get in._ That's all he has to say to me.

"Dad," I try one more time. He slams his fist on the top of the car. I wasn't expecting it so it makes me jump a bit like a scared woodland creature, but with a lot more teeth.

"Joshua, get in the damn car!" he yells, his face suddenly red as a strawberry and the intensity makes me jump. I close my mouth and inhale from my nose, trying not to lose it before I yank the passenger door open. I slip inside roughly, plopping down hard and making the car bow with my dead weight. I slam the door. I want him to _see and hear_ that I'm upset - you know, a real feast for the senses. But I assume he already knows this. Bob doesn't say another word as he gets into the driver's seat and slams his own door shut. Like father like son.

I am half expecting him to lay into me, tell me what an embarrassment I am to the Washington name. It's nothing he's never alluded to before, in the past. But what comes next is even _worse_.

I am punished with _yet_ even more painful, agonizing silence from the familial patriarch. It's a loud, pregnant, deafening silence that sits heavy between the two of us. I want to talk to him, tell him all the things going on in my head and why I ended up in jail today, but the way he clenches his jaw and steps on the gas a bit too firmly makes me realize that he cares very little about what excuse I have for him. But it's not an excuse. I'm crazy as hell and at one point in my life, the only person I would have wanted to talk to is the one who refuses to.

I slink into my seat, defeated and unnerved by the awkward quiet, wishing I could just disappear altogether. But above all of the fear and the anger, I'm hurt. I didn't expect him to be all that welcoming to me - he clearly hates me, after all. But I wish for fucking once my life was like one of those cheesy sitcoms where the dad has a stern talking to his son and they hug and end it with ice cream. Just fucking once.

And I don't even _like_ ice cream. (It makes my teeth cold. Get over it.)

Not that I expect him to respond, "I didn't mean to let you down again," I say, barely above a whisper. He doesn't react _.Ever._ I _know_ he heard me. Even at such a low volume, in contrast to the silence, my words are the loudest thing in the car besides the hum of the road beneath the tires. " _Dad_." Still nothing. I swallow and try again. I don't know why I even bother. This is getting pathetic at this point. Even still, the part of me that is still a little boy begging for his dad's attention is desperate for a response. "Dad, please. _Look_ at me." It's a plea. I can see him consider it, the slightest wavering in his eyebrows. But he just grips the steering wheel even tighter and stares forward. "Do you seriously hate me _that_ fucking much!?" I finally blurt wayyy louder than necessary. I see him flinch; the father inside of him wants to scold me, tell me to watch my mouth. But he hasn't been a father in so long, it would seem foreign to him.

"Y-you know what? _Fine_. Don't say anything to me. It's not like this is anything new, ya know. It's not like you've been _around_ for the last ten or so _years_. It's not like you've given a flying fuck about what's been going on with me-"

"Settle down," he says gruffly, exhaustedly. Fatherly, almost. But nope. I've already started and I don't see myself 'settling down' anytime soon. He _had_ the chance to talk to me like an adult but now I've resorted to his level of childishness and he is out of his league if he thinks he can be any less mature than I am capable of. I twist in my seat to face him, unclicking my restricting and uncomfortable seat belt. "And get your seat belt back on," he demands.

"Oh, cut the _caring father_ bullshit-"

"Joshua Galen, that's _enough_ ," he scolds. I laugh, which makes him finally pry his eyes from the road and onto me, instead. I'm all worked up, and he wants to rein me in… but reminding me of the shitty middle name he and my mom gave me is not a way to get me to any less pissed off.

I continue on as though he's said nothing. That's what I'm used to, anyway.

"I know you blame me for what happened to them. I know you can't look at me without thinking about how much more promising their lives were than mine," I choke out, and I'm ashamed to say I've begun to cry… because my heart physically hurts, saying this aloud.

"Joshua-" he tries to interrupt, but it's quiet and weak so I bulldoze over him with my emotional tirade.

"And I know all I have done is disappoint you and mom over and over again since that night. Since _before_ that night! You can't even look at me… your own son! And the wrost thing is, I don't even blame you. I'm a fuck up, dad. I know this!"

" _Joshua-_ "

"But don't you think a day doesn't go by that I don't blame myself enough for the both of us?! I know you wish it was me instead of them-"

I'm jolted forward by the car coming to an abrupt stop after Bob slams on the break. My heart is now in my throat and I am scared shitless of the suddenness of it all. A honk rings out behind us of another car who narrowly missed rear ending us, and even in the darkness I can see the driver giving us the finger as he speeds around us.

"Don't you _ever_ say that again," my dad demands after turning towards me. Now that we are sitting in the middle of the road and he is being all intense and scary, I'm starting to regret losing it on him. I kind of prefer the silence over the terrifying conversation we are about to have. I squirm, looking behind us at all of the confused cars that are begining to roll around us and on their way.

"Dad, don't just stop in the midd-" I start to fidget in my seat, but his hand comes up and grips me by the back of the neck roughly, turning my attention to him and on nothing else. The rest of the cars fade into the background and I gulp. I've never seen this kind of intensity in his face. It feels like forever since I've actually looked into my father's eyes. He looks like a broken man.

"Do you hear me, Josh? Don't _ever_ say that again. I have never blamed you for what happened to your sisters. I will never blame you. You are a kid. You stop carrying that burden on your shoulders, not for one more goddamned day, you understand?" My mouth is dry so I wordlessly and timidly nod. "You are my son. A spoiled little shithead, I'll admit, but _my_ son. And I love you. And I don't care what kind of crazy you are, I will never be disappointed in you. I do not blame you for what happened to Bethany and Hannah, Okay?" I nod again because I literally couldn't say anything at this point if I tried. He looks sadder now, his eyes darkening as a sigh heaves from his chest. "I blame _myself_ for letting your sisters down. For letting _you_ down, Josh. Every single day."

Tears. They're falling from my eyes and pooling in his. This is a moment. This is a breakthrough. The lump in my throat is painful and the size of a golfball and it's released in this gasping sob that would embarrass me if it weren't in front of the man who had made me.

"I'm sorry dad-"

"No. I'm sorry. I've been a _shitty_ father to you, Joshua. I haven't even begun to make it up to you. But you are the kid. I am the parent. And there is nothing you could do that would make me love you any less than the day you were born." Well. This was unexpected. I get arrested and my dad is apologizing to me. I wonder how I pulled this one off... "I'm gonna do better, okay?" he continues, " _We're_ gonna do better. It's not gonna happen over night and we still have a lot of fixing we need to do… but we will get through this. Together."

His hand unclenches from behind my neck and I wipe away the tears and snot from my face. I didn't know how much I needed to hear that until he said it… and he didn't even mention the fact that I was just arrested, so bonus points for that. He smacks me lovingly on the cheek, almost hard enough to hurt.

"How did you know where I was?" I wonder, but I already know the answer.

"Sam," we say in unison.

"Fucking Sam," I spit, shaking my head.

"Language. I mean it," he corrects. "And you should be happy to have a friend like her after-"

"I know." And just as soon as that moment began, it passes, and I don't say much of anything. We don't catch up or make small talk, don't push it any further. It was perfect and healing enough as it was. My dad sits forward, flicks on his blinker and we drive the rest of the way home in comfortable, wonderful silence.

After a while, we get home. My heart feels lighter but my mind and body are exhausted. Dad rolls into the driveway and tells me he'll talk to mom - apparently she doesn't know where I've been, just yet. He looks like he might want to hug me, but we silently part ways, mentally agreeing to save that for another day.

I walk into the house quickly and avoid my mom - I really don't want her to see me. My face is puffy and my eyes are tired; I just want to put this day and myself to bed - but I'm still not sleeping in my room. _Hell no_. My room and mind are seething with monsters and I just don't have the energy to face them. So I make the more-recently usual trek to the giant media room where I've been camped out for the last few days with every intent to pop a few sleeping pills and cease to exist for at _least_ 13 hours.

I have no idea what's gonna happen now.

I don't see Finke for another day or two and from what happened at the jail and seeing my sisters, I know I'm not in a good place.

I'm not going to lie to you (because when during this whole last few weeks have I been anything but honest?) I'm feeling pretty low.

I don't know _why_ I didn't just tell my dad that I am losing it again. Maybe ask him for a little bit of help. I just… I guess I didn't want to disappoint him - not after our little heart to heart. Sure, things aren't perfect and we still have a lot of shit to work out but… it's at least better than it's been the last five months. I couldn't imagine telling him I'm off my rocker again. Another bad choice in a long, never-ending list of bad choices. Another one of those awesome movie moments where everything could be solved with just one simple conversation. But when you're like me… when you're sick… logic like that tends to be wasted.

My TMNT watch goes off and it reminds me of two things: I need to take another ( _apparently_ useless) pill and Sam is leaving. I really didn't need to be reminded of the latter, however. No matter what, I'm fairly certain that since the moment I met her, Sam has never been too far from my mind. How did I never realize that until now?

I plop down on the overstuffed couch in the sitting room before I pop one of my pills and swallow it dry. Then...I do something that _really_ freaks me out and you guys can't get mad at me because I guarantee you would have the same thing run through your mind if you were in my shoes.

I stare at the bottle of pills in my hand and consider just taking them _all_ , one at a time, until I can't take any more. They aren't helping me, anyways.

 _Such a pussy,_ I think to myself as I firmly put the cap back on and toss the bottle away from me before I can do anything stupid. I lay down on the sofa and pull up some blankets over me to hide out, then I fish around in my pockets for my ipod so I can blast some music to drown out my own negative self-talk, hoping I fall just into a deep coma or a shallow grave or something.

They never should have let me out of Ocean View.

I'm broken. _Defective._

My sisters are dead but I'm still here, messing it up for myself and everyone else.

You would have thought that my breakthrough with Bob would be cause to celebrate but the fact that it isn't cheering me up at all just makes it that much worse. I am here. I am alive. I should be thankful but instead I am resentful.

Beth had a scholarship for UCLA. She bragged about going to 'Hollywood' and surfing on the weekends while she studied political science. She coulda done anything. And Hannah maybe didn't have as much direction as Beth, but she was certainly talented and smart in her own way. She wanted to do something different every week. She would have done it all, if she could have.

And here I am: Hiding out in the movie room like it's a safe haven, protecting me from monsters and myself and why the fuck am I even _here_ anymore? People like me serve no use to society. I really should be steriliz-

_knocknocknock_

My mind freezes - _thank goodness_. That's enough self-loathing for one day. And although I am relieved by the interruption, I can't be so sure if it really happened or if I imagined it.

Then it comes again, a little louder this time, before the doorknob turns and the door cracks open. I freeze, unable to move. I'm kinda scared, what with all the hallucinations lately. I pull my blankets down just a bit to peer towards the door as it is slowly creaking open and I see a pair of familiar green eyes and blonde, pony-tailed hair.

Ugh. _Why._ No.

Sam steps into the room and quietly closes the door behind her, leaning against it and just staring at me with those big, worried eyes. I'm about to ask her how she got into my house, but she says, "Your dad let me in." At least I know I'm not gonna get in any more trouble than I already have. I sit up a bit on the couch, giving her a little shrug.

"What are you doing here?" She doesn't hesitate to come towards me, sitting down next to me as if I gave her an invitation. I want to reach out and hug her, but I don't. I'm still mad. But she has no idea what I was thinking about only moments ago and how much her being here means to me right now… even if I am certainly not going to tell her that. She takes in a shaky, uneven breath before,

"I am… so-"

" _Stop_." I haven't ever apologized to her for anything I've put her through. She certainly doesn't owe me an apology. She just wants to live a normal life. Can I honestly blame her for that? She solemnly nods, holding back her tears unsuccessfully. Usually tears make me uncomfortable. Something always seems so insincere about them. But… not hers. Sam's not much of a crier and I can see the pain in her eyes when she looks up at me.

"I just… I got scared, you know? I just felt _so_ much _so_ fast and…" she folds her lips, taking in a sharp breath through her nose. "I meant it when I said I wasn't expecting to feel the way I feel about you," her voice breaks.

"And… how is it that you feel about me?" I wonder. I'm not digging for compliments here. I know I'm a mess. I know I have done nothing but destroyed her life for the last… I don't even know how long now. Since my sisters died? Since she became the one to try to put my pieces back together and in return I showed her a video of myself getting ripped apart again to find out how much she cared - hadn't all those nights sitting up with me and talking and comforting me been proof enough? I know before that night a few months ago she believed I was better. She really thought I was gonna be okay. We talked about making plans after we got home from the weekend… maybe see a movie. She had no idea what I had in store for her.

How was I ever supposed to expect her to trust her heart in my clumsy, crazy, incapable hands? She was brave, but she wasn't _stupid._

"I don't actually know the answer to that," she admits in a low whisper. It wasn't the answer I particularly wanted… but it wasn't hatred, either. I know she does. I know she might even love me. But I also know she'd be crazy to admit that aloud, and even crazier to allow it to keep her tied to me instead of breaking free and getting as far away from me as she can.

Then I think about what Beth and Hannah told me tonight. What I already knew to be true.

"You told the rangers about me, didn't you?" Her forehead creases and she thinks a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She doesn't know what I'm talking about. "After you left me with Mike and… and I got taken by-" I stop because saying it aloud makes me feel crazier than I am. But… she knows, right? She saw and fought those things too, right? She reaches over and softly sets her palm across the top of my hand, smooth and warm.

"Those things were real," she assures me. I was afraid of that. Her gaze meets mine intensely. Lightning. I appreciate the fact that she didn't make me ask that question. With the way my mind works, I was starting to wonder if I had imagined those things in Blackwood Pines. But now. I guess not. "We _all_ saw them."

And I realize that none of us have talked about that part of the night - we've only ever discussed the terror that I inflicted upon them. I wonder how many of them lump the two together. If I hadn't invited them up…

"Okay," I breathe quietly, leaning back into the couch and accepting that part of my memory as reality - the part that I was a little foggy on before. "You saved me, you know." A small, consolation of a smile breaks her lips. It's tired. But it's there.

"I mean… I just told them where you were..."

"You hoped I was alive, though." I reflect. My pill is kicking in. It always makes everything kinda blur around the edges, get a little hazy… makes my heart rate slow and my words are a little slurry. "You sent them down after me knowing what was down there... You didn't know if all of those things were all dead. You could have been sending a search and rescue group to their deaths," I inform her and she winces, gives me a little groan.

"Well, that seems kind of awful when you put it that way-" My hand slips out from under hers and then grips it tightly instead.

"Sam… I owe everything to you. None of the others told the police about me. Everyone thought they would seem crazy or… or maybe they just didn't care but… you did. Why?" She wipes away a single tear that escaped her eye. She sniffs.

"You're all I had left of them," she confesses. Beth and Hannah. I clench my jaw and swallow hard. I look away from her. I wanted to be more than that to her. And she knows that. She reaches her other hand up and turns my face to hers. "But then… somewhere along the way, it became _so_ much more than that."

We sit in silence for a moment. I am trying hard to keep from kissing her - I am not quite sure she wants me doing that anymore, anyways. She stares up at me expectantly, and I don't what to think. But I do know one thing for sure, and it's so unfair of me to even think it.

"Sam, I don't want you to transfer away," I say as though this is some new revelation - _of course_ she already knows this. This is the most vulnerable I've allowed myself to be around her, save for earlier today. Something flickers in her eyes. Something that says she doesn't want to go either.

"I know," is her short response. She doesn't tell me she's gonna stay. And that's okay. I decide right then and there that if Sam needs to be free of me to get on with her life, to be healthy and happy, then that's all I can hope for. I want her to be happy.

I just wanted to be the one to do it.

Why can't I ever say this stuff aloud, by the way? It's smooth as hell and it might actually change her mind…

"What are you listening to?" she asks, and I can hear the quiet music still buzzing from my ear buds on the couch beside me. I pick one up and put it in me ear. I know what song it is right away.

"Kodaline," I reply, and now that we aren't talking about feelings and shit I'm a little more at ease. Today has been far too eventful for my own good. She reaches her hand down and takes the other ear bug in her hand before pressing it to her ear. We listen.

_So you brought out the best of me A part of me I've never seen_

_You took my soul and wiped it clean Our love was made for movie screens_

She smirks. The cute one that crinkles her nose before her freckled eyes find mine, "I like it," she says. She taps my knee and I scoot a bit on the couch. I think she just wants some more room to sit beside me, but I am surprised when instead her body partially covers mine, snuggling up to me tightly as she lays her head on my chest. I almost resist the urge to wrap my arm around her, but what the hell. I am not going to get many more moments like this with her before she leaves and that both kills me and comforts me, in a way.

I _need_ this.

I think she does, too.

"Josh?" she says into my shirt. I hum back at her in response. "You'll tell me if you're getting sick again, right?" she asks hopefully. She presses her chin into me and looks up at my face, to see if my words match my expression.

"Yeah… of course," I assure her, and she kind of looks like she believes me.

She should know better by now. _Silly Sammy._

* * *

_To be continued..._


	14. Breathe Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gosh this sure is fizzling out, eh? I think next chapter will be my last, or something like that. I honestly have no idea where my stories are gonna go when I start them - I just roll with whatever pops up. I have written myself into a corner during this fic more than once. And I'll miss it!
> 
> Also… super special thanks to those of you still reading and favoriting and reviewing. Obv you know how important that is to a writer - instant feedback. But it's so hard for those of us still writing in a dying fandom. So, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for all the kind words, critiques, questions… it's been a wild ride. xoxo

* * *

**  
Chapter 14:**

_Breathe Me_

_aka_

_The 5 Stages of Grief come on fast and slow and in all kinds of order and there's never an end._

* * *

 

So…. my dad's dead.

_Yeah._

And it happened just like three or four days after our little heart to heart, too. If I am being totally honest, the days following have all been a bit of a blur so bear with me if I don't get it right - insanity and grief play tricks on a weak man's mind, ya know.

My parents flew to California for the weekend for their 25th wedding anniversary. They were in their car leaving a restaurant when they went through a busy intersection on their way to the hotel. That was about the time some drunk fucker ran a red light and T-boned the car on my dad's side.

My mom was in the passenger seat. She walked away without a scratch on her.

And yet, 'Robert Washington, famed director and writer is _dead'_ \- or, at least that's how it was told by multiple media outlets. Strange the way life works like that.

_Now you see me, now you don't._

It's really weird, too. Because I never thought it would be a car accident that would get him, of all things. Chris used to say my dad was like Grizzly Adams. I can't say I disagree. I always thought he'd snap and go nuts (proving once and for all I got my craziness from dear old daddy) and he'd end up living with bears until they turned on him and mauled him to death like that documentary guy. But he would have gone out fighting. Maybe even take one or two of those bastards down with him.

Even weirder is how much time we wasted not talking when we should have made things right a long time ago - You always think you have all the time in the world to patch things up but… you just don't. Now, all we have is that one car ride home.

And once again my world is proven to be one sad, sick joke after another.

 

* * *

  _ **Stage One**_ _ **:**_ _Shock and Disbelief_

So, surprisingly after my little run in with the police, my dad started being pretty lax when it came to Sam hangin' around - "you could stand to learn a few things from her," he'd said. Although I am not sure as to of what things he was referring to.

Perhaps he meant how to blackmail someone into doing whatever you wanted?

Or how to make someone fall in love with you and then ditch out?

Okay, okay. So I am still feeling a little bit bitter towards Sam.

But… not having her around feels worse than being alone, especially since my visions haven't gotten any better. And we still haven't talked more about her leaving for college, so it puts a nice, thick tension between us. Slightly awkward but with the tendency to still make out sometimes if I played my cards right- So I'd say we're in a pretty okay place at this point, as long as we continue to ignore the glaring issues coming up on us fast - like her going to college and me going insane.

_Ain't no thang. We good._

I'm sitting next to Sam in the living room and before I even get the call, I get this distinct and unsettling feeling - like I am almost about to becoming horribly, violently ill. One reason why might be the shadow watching us from the hallway that I'm steadily pretending _isn't_ there.

But there's something else.

Something _worse_. I can sense it.

We've spent the better half of the last 6 hours watching scary movies (why she continues to humor me, I'll never know… I can tell from each grimace and each groan how much she hates it).

Also, it's probably not the best idea for me to be watching horror movies at this time. It's like I'm just asking for my hallucinations to morph into full on nightmare-mode.

Anyways, When I see my mom's name on my 6-year-old phone screen (which, by the way, since I got it I haven't had to charge it once. Those things are _no_ joke), I'm feeling pretty nervous because although Sam's been over a bit since the night at the police station, I am still a little hazy on the rules when it comes to having her over. I just thought maybe they began turning a blind eye because it keeps me out of trouble - little do they know the world of trouble this girl has put me through.

I know instantly that my mom's not calling to check in with me, though. I also now know why I have been sitting with that brick in my stomach for the last hour.

Her voice is shaky, like when she's _beyond_ upset but trying her best to hold it together. I've heard that voice far too many times in my 21 years, and I am ashamed to say I've been the cause of it more times than I'd like to admit.

She tells me that there's been an accident and that it doesn't look like dad's gonna make it - I find it odd how matter-of-factly she relays this to me; aside from the frog in her throat there is almost no emotion at all.

She says I need to fly down there _immediately_ for a chance to say goodbye - _if_ he even holds out that long. I'm relatively certain that she needs me there for her, as well. I don't mind _that_ part one bit. I am all she has now and I feel sorry for her, as broken and messed up as I am.

I can't help but wonder if she felt this way when she got the panicked phone call from me that Hannah and Beth were missing.

Then once again the following year when the lodge had burned down and I was missing - I guess that time it was Chris who called.

I quietly hate myself for _ever_ making her worry.

I must not come across as very reactive during the call 'cause when I hang up Sam is just staring at me, her head cocked to the side, awaiting an explanation. I just avoid her gaze and pick up the remote, absently turning the movie back up from it's temporarily muted state.

" _Josh_?" Sam says, her voice low and quiet. I grunt in response. "That was your mom?"

I nod.

"She sounded upset…"

I shrug a bit, but I feel my eyes slowly trail towards hers, which are burning into me intensely. I know from the look on her face that she can tell that something's wrong. The weird part is… if I'm totally being honest… I don't really feel anything. _Numb._

"Nothing," I shrug. "My dad's dying," I might as well have told her that we're due for rain or my weekend plans. A mild inconvenience.

She, understandably, _freaks out_. She starts throwing her arms up and around and becoming almost ridiculously concerned if I am okay, to which I reply that I am. I give her very limited information (it's honestly not like I know too many details at this point, anyway).

She asks me what I need.

"What do you need, Josh? What can I do for you?"

I realize that it would be in _incredibly_ poor taste to suggest a BJ. I'm disgusted with myself that it even crosses my mind. Okay, not _entirely_ disgusted. But slightly.

"A ride to the airport, I guess…"

Sam doesn't hesitate - she borrows her mom's car (hers is STILL in the shop) and takes me straight there. I notice she is driving very carefully - I'm not sure if it is because of my dad's accident or hers. Either way, I appreciate it. I already wanna puke enough as it is without her weaving in and out of traffic.

She pulls up to the curb by the American Airlines kiosk and asks me if I'm gonna be okay from here, I say yes. _I'm crazy, not 7 years old, Samantha._

"I am... _so_ sorry, Josh," she says through brimming tears, her hand on my forearm like we're in an episode of Grey's Anatomy (I had two sisters and a mom. It's a good show. Sue me… also, RIP McDreamy).

I sigh. And because I cannot seem to process this level of emotion correctly at the moment, I do what I normally do: Make a horrifically inappropriate joke.

" _I'm_ the one who should be sorry. I got one of those emails last week that said someone close to me would die if I didn't forward it to ten people…"

Bad timing. Bad joke.

Sam gives me a bit of a disapproving look, but I know _she_ knows this is how I cope. I had hundreds of 'dead sister jokes' during the year Hannah and Beth were missing.

She didn't find those ones funny, either.

"Thanks, Sammy," I say, a little more seriously. She leans in and kisses me, and I wonder when we ended up on a kissing-hello/kissing-goodbye basis. Not that I'm complaining… but that's definitely going to make her leaving for college even harder on me.

And so, (with special permissions from my court order) I am on the next plane out. I try with all my might not to pull a Shatner and exclaim that there's something on the wing… because even though there is, I know no one else can see it.

The old man beside me asks why I'm going to California. I tell him it's to meet Ben Affleck. He believes me. Old people believe anything.

I snap my shade shut and just try to listen my music, closing my eyes and pretending like I'm maybe not going to California to say goodbye to my father. Music is soothing. _Breathe me._ Sia.

 _Be my friend, hold me_  
_Wrap me up, unfold me_  
_I am small, and needy_  
_Warm me up and breathe me_

I've made this trip hundreds of times in my life: Disneyland, movie sets, studios… but stepping off the plane at John Wayne International Airport now feels… _empty_. I wasn't here for a family vacation with my parents and sisters.

I was there to say goodbye to my dad.

 _If_ he was even still alive at this point. I didn't know.

As I sit on the plane, which is a relatively short flight considering, I can't help but just think over and over and over again about those last five months and the fact that we never said a word - not _one_ single word - until I got arrested. And although he said a lot of what I needed to hear, it felt so… unfinished. I didn't get to say what I wanted to say to _him._ A half conversation. Something we put a pin in and planned on getting back to later. At first it hurt to think about all that wasted time. Then I even found it humorous, almost.

But now… I don't know how I feel about it.

Did he know that growing up he was my fucking hero?

Did he _really_ not blame me for what happened to Beth and Hannah?

I know he loved me. He got to tell me one more time but… did he know _I_ love _him_?

 

* * *

  _ **Stage Two**_ _ **:**_ _Denial_

I'm here now.

At the hospital.

It reminds me of all those _other_ times I was at the hospital… but obviously for different reasons than this. In fact, Ocean View is _in_ Burbank, and it's relatively close to here. It definitely feels weird to be back and not being committed - even if I am insane and all.

As I watch my mom talking to the doctor, I haven't found the courage to go into my dad's room. They had tried, unsuccessfully, to repair the trauma from the accident, but so far he is unresponsive, his organs are failing. They say stupid things that aren't even remotely helpful like, "We're surprised he even survived the crash as at all," as though him laying there like a vegetable with no morsel of dignity left was some kind of fucked up silver-lining.

The strangest part of all is that it doesn't actually _feel_ like it's happening.

_This is not real._

_This is not my life._

The legendary, 'impenetrable' Washington Family of five, now whittled down to merely two. That doesn't even make sense to me. This kinda stuff happens, but it's not supposed to happen to _us_ \- _not anymore_. We _paid_ our penance. We already had to mourn my sisters. And why me? Out of everyone my mom has lost - the love of her life and her two perfect, wonderful daughters - why did she get stuck with _me_ in the end?

I lean forward, cradling my head in my hands as I wait… for what, I don't know. For death to come swiftly and painlessly? For me to wake up and realize that none of it was even real? It doesn't feel real.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the hospital lights flicker, but when I whip my head up, no one else seems to notice it. I can see something out of my peripheral, and it gives me shivers.

At the very end of the hospital corridor, which for some reason has become dark, I can see the same creature in the shadows that I was seeing back home.

It's still following me.

Of course it's still following me.

That's what I was afraid of.

I want to call out to my mom, but as I'm sitting there in that hard, disgustingly stained waiting room chair, frozen in fear, I am horribly reminded that they can't see it. It's growling. I've moved past visions and am having full on hallucinations now. The floor is corroding. The wallpaper is peeling and rotting. It's alllll in my head.

_Again._

And then, in a flash, things look normal again. I glance back down the hallway where the creature once stood, now just nurses and patients shuffling about. My heart is still thumping wildly, though. I reach into my backpack and pull out my pills. It's late and with everything going on, I'd forgotten to take them - I silenced my TMNT watch earlier when it started buzzing during a very serious moment between my mom and the doctor. Besides, I'm now 100% positive these things are useless.

Still, I down the hatch, hoping for some kind of relief.

"Josh?" I hear my mom call out, a beckoning finger out for me. She's leaving the doctor, nearing me with tear-streaked cheeks and a well-used tissue. She sits in the chair beside me when I barely respond. "Josh, they're going to turn off the machines… do you want to go in there?" I can feel my head nod slowly but my body doesn't move.

Going in there means it's real.

Going in there means goodbye.

"Do you need me to go with you?" she offers, but no. I think I need to do this one on my own. I stand up, my knees popping audibly from sitting so long. My feet squeak against the tiled floor as they take me to the room even though I really don't want to go. But I've spent months not wanting to face him. Now is the last chance I'll ever have.

The first thing I notice when I walk into my father's hospital room is the nurse, whose face is melting off. I mean, literally, her skin looks burned and it droops, like an action figure held over an open flame. She looks at me and I try not to recoil but her eyes are missing. I swallow hard, attempting not to react because I know it's not real. It's not real. _It's not real._

"It was supposed to be you. It'll be you, soon," she says, her voice as sweet as it is sinister while she glides past me. It makes me do a double-take.

" _Excuse me_?" I manage to croak.

"I _said_ I'll give you guys some privacy," she replies. It probably was. I can't trust myself at this point. I'm not even sure I can trust _you_ anymore.

I give her one last glance and she looks normal now, so I offer her a tight smile.

_Shake it off, Josh._

I hear the constant beeping of the heart monitor, and it suddenly feels deafening. As I near the bed, my denial grows. That's not my father - there's nothing about him that resembles Robert J. Washington anymore. His face is swollen past the point of recognition and there are so many tubes coming in and out of him he looks like he's caught in a spider's web.

There is only one part of him that lets me know it's him, and that's his hands. I glance down and study his left hand, his gold wedding band glimmering back at me. I must have seen his hands a million times, but I've never _looked_ at them, you know? There's a really surreal feeling you get when you realize you're basically looking at someone for the last time.

I look at my own hands. They're the same as his.

I take his hand in mine. It's cold already; I read once on the affects of death on the body and how the slowing of the heart makes your circulation slow as well, which can result in cold extremities. I want to be able to feel things on an emotional level right now, but I am too busy recounting all of the logistic of it. He is going to die. My mom and I will be alone in that big house. We will get a massive insurance policy payout, as if we needed any more money.

I plop down in the waiting chair beside him, where my mom's probably been sitting for the last few miserable, gut-wrenching hours of her life.

The last miserable, gut-wrenching moments of my father's entire life.

 

* * *

  _ **Stage Three**_ _ **:**_ _Anger_

"If you wanted to get away from me so badly, you coulda just kicked my ass out," I utter, and the joke makes _me_ grin a bit, because if he _could_ hear me, I know he'd find it funny. He's where this weird, twisted sense of humor came from in the first place. It's what gave him that creative edge when he made movies. It was my favorite thing about him and maybe the only thing I like about myself.

"If you still love me, beep twice," I mumble, and of course the heart monitor steadily beeps back at me, over and over again, slow and steady as though time isn't running out. My eyes start to sting with tears, and if I'm being honest, a part of me is relieved to be feeling anything at all. The idea of him getting reunited with Beth and Hannah does me in though, and I begin to cry. I know if there is any good to come out of this, it's that they'll all be together.

Saying goodbye is tough in any case, especially when there was so much else I needed to say to him, so much else I needed to apologize for. Like not telling him I'm still sick. Like not asking for help.

I open my mouth and let it slip out, ' _I'm sorry, dad'_ , although I am not totally sure I believe he can even hear me at this point. "I'm sorry I haven't been a good son. Fuck, I haven't even been a good _person_ -" I stop. Something tells me I don't have to say more. He knows. And he'd be quick to tell me to watch my mouth if he could respond.

I jump a bit at the feeling of his hand tightening around mine, my face probably paperwhite as I try to decipher if I imagined it or if it really happened. I turn over my shoulder, and the nurse is back.

"H-he squeezed my hand," I choke, and my mom is walking in the room behind her. They exchange morose glances, and the nurse shakes her head.

"At this point that would just be a twitch or a reflex. He's not showing any cognitive brain act-"

"No, he squeezed my hand, I felt it," I reply sternly, and for some reason, I'm just so fucking angry at her. Who does _she_ think she is to take something away like that? I know what the body does when it dies, but that wasn't a death-twitch. He straight up grabbed my hand.

" _Josh,_ " my mom says quietly, but her tone is warning. _Not now, Josh._

"Mom, you're just gonna let them shut the monitors off? Wh-what if he just needs time?" I am raising my voice as I stand, and I feel like I might be the only one making any kind of sense. It's only been a few hours - why can't they just _wait?_

"I know this is hard, but I can assure you that there is no chance of recovery-" the nurse starts to try to explain to me. I kick the chair over, because of course I do. My mom and the nurse jump back, and I want to rip my fucking hair out.

"Oh, can you? You can assure me that a week from now, a month, that there is no way he's gonna pull through?" I snap, my mom is charging me now.

" _Enough_ , Joshua!" she practically screams, she's hysterical as she shoves me in the chest. My mom has never laid her hands on me. _She's_ angry, too. "Goddamn it, can you just _stop_ being difficult for once?" she begs, and I feel my adrenaline beginning to subside, but even still, I can't be in here anymore. I push past her and out into the hallway. Then I keep going.

I want to punch a hole in a wall, but the last time I did that I practically broke my hand. I glance down at my still-recovering knuckles and decide that's not the best route this time.

Fiery anger still floods my veins, though, and I am not sure if I am ever going to get it to stop - it feels permanent, not like some passing emotion. And I am pissed at myself because I can't even feel what I should be feeling properly because I am so lethargic from all of my delusions. I am terrified that I am about to slip completely out of reality and it makes me sick to my stomach - how am I supposed to be there for my mom right now when I am completely lost at this point?

I'm also terrified I am gonna start seeing him now, too. I already reverted back to visions of my sisters, there's been a shadowy monster following me for the past week and a half and now I can just add my dad in there.

And I'm mad for thinking about myself at a time like this, because the thought that my dad's death couldn't have come at a worse time crosses my mind. As though any time is a convenient time to lose a parent.

* * *

 

 _ **Stage Four**_ _ **:**_ _Bargaining_

I pull out my phone and call the one person I can bear to speak to at the moment - and it's surprisingly not Samantha.

Chris picks up after two rings; he sounds groggy, which doesn't surprise me. Chris is known for his afternoon siestas as soon as he gets out of class.

" _Yoooo_ ," he hums and I keep relatively calm, considering only moments ago I wanted to rip my own hair out.

"Hey, I just wanted to give you a head's up that my dad is dying," I say very plainly. I can hear a shuffling on the other end, and this his voice is ridiculously loud in my ear.

" _Eh_? What?"

"I said that my dad is dying." There's a pause.

"What the hell, Josh? What are you talking about?"

I sigh. I'm not making a whole lot of sense right now. I should be clearer than that but I am not entirely sure how. I proceed to tell him, almost robotically, a play-by-play of the events that have transpired over the last 12 hours. He's in shock, asks me what he can do. Of course there's nothing he can do, but my parents were like a second set of parents to him so I figure he should know.

I hear a _beep_ in my ear and when I check the phone I see I am getting a call from Sam on the other line. I contemplate not picking up, but only for a second. She is probably worried that she hasn't heard from me since the airport. I rush Chris off the phone and feel like an ass about it; I just gave him some pretty bad news and then don't even stay on the line to offer any kind of comfort or support… but I guess I'm really not in the right mindset to offer him that, anyways.

"Sam?" I mumble into the phone, and she sounds hesitant.

" _Hey…_ how is it going down there?"

"Fine."

"...Really?" she asks, skeptically.

"No," I choke out. "Sam, they won't listen to me."

"What do you mean?"

"I felt him squeeze my hand, I know he's still in there somewhere but they are going to pull the plug anyways." Suddenly, I get a bright idea. It actually might be the smartest idea I've ever come up with, I can literally feel my face light up and the weight on my heart lift as I think about it, "Sam!" I yell excitedly.

" _What?_ " she snaps back, clearly startled.

"Sammmm, _Samsamsammy_ -" I slur.

"Josh… Why are you talking like that?"

Grief is weird, guys. One minute I'm angry, the next I'm crying, then suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm deliriously ecstatic because I figured out a solution to my problem. My dying-dad problem.  
"You could come _here,_ " I suggest, and I can hear the air deplete from her lungs on the other end. But before she can tell me _no_ , I continue on. "Don't say no, Sam! _Everyone_ listens to you. I think they think I'm crazy, because of the shadows and stuff-"

"What?" _Shit_. I didn't meant to say that. I keep going as though I didn't.

"-I think they don't believe me but if _you_ came here-"

"Josh…"

"-but if _you_ told them-"

" _Josh._ "

"Sam, there's no _way_ they won't believe you!" I'm pacing frantically. "My mom trusts you way more than me, if you could just tell them to wait then maybe we can figure out a way to save him." I feel hot and cold at the same time and I feel this fluttering in my heart because I want so badly for her to say yes, but I know from her tone that she's going to say-

"Josh, I _can't_."

"...yeah, yeah you can. Listen, if it's about the plane ticket, I can just use my credit-"

"It's not that-"

"I can send a car to pick you up at the airport, you could be down here within a few hours."

"Josh, _please_ listen to me," she interjects, and I realize when I stop speaking that she's been trying to talk over me the whole time. I swallow the lump in my throat and wait silently for the rejection to come. "I just… don't think there's anything _I_ can do. The doctors wouldn't tell you there's no hope if there were other options, don't you think?" She is talking to me like a preschooler again. I lean my back against the hallway wall, sliding down til I am sitting on the tiled floor. Nurses and doctors and patients all walk by me, stepping over me as though I am not even there.

"Sam," I mumble. "Please."

It's not even that I think she can change anything. It's that I am so painfully, agonizingly terrified to be alone. I want her here with me, even if she can't talk to my mom and the doctors.

"I'll be here as soon as you get back-" she tries.

"Yeah, great, _fine_ ," I snip, hanging up on her abruptly.

It's not her fault.

No one can help me, right now.

 

* * *

  _ **Stage Five**_ _ **:**_ _Guilt_

I saunter back towards my dad's hospital room in a bit of a daze.

I can hear my mom crying.

My dad is covered with a white sheet.

He died while I was outside on the phone.

_...I missed it._

 

* * *

  _ **Stage Six**_ _ **:**_ _Depression_

The funeral is actually pretty small, back home, followed immediately by the wake at my house.

Even though my dad was pretty much famous, he was still somewhat of a hermit, so there are some distant family members here and some of his closer friends in the industry. I am actually slightly irritated that a lot of the guests are murmuring excitedly over the fact that Edward Norton came. He worked with my dad a few times. That's the highest profile 'celebrity' who made it.

My mom and I are greeted with condolences, and it feels odd standing in the front of the room with her as people walk by, shaking our hands as though they are moving their way down an assembly line. I am surprised, though. Matt, Sam, Chris, Jess and Mike… they all came… I am even more surprised that Emily and Ashley came, too.

I haven't seen Ashley since the day I apologized on stage; Chris said she was taking some time to sort through her emotions over the whole thing. Believe it or not, at one point I was kinda close with Ashley. Of course, it was strictly because I met her through Chris and he insisted on dragging her along with us everywhere we went, successfully making me feel like a third wheel to their non-dates. But we got along fine, we had some fun.

She walks right up to me and her eyes are so glossy and intense she almost looks possessed; I am not sure if she is going to punch me or what… but she comes up, instead, and wraps her arms around me. I am stunned stupid and slightly embarrassed as Sam and Chris watch on as though they are proud parents of two kids who just made up.

"I'm sorry about your dad," she sputters off quickly, and then hurries off as though that might have been one of the hardest things she's ever had to do. I just watch after her as she leaves. I am in too much of a fog to really react. I wonder if I should go after her, but I am too numb. A walking zombie. Chris pats me on the shoulder on his way after her - "I'll go check on her," he assures me, leaving me with only Sam.

I've been avoiding her.

She probably thinks I'm mad that she didn't come out to the hospital, but after a few days of marinating on it, I realize that I was never really mad at her. Sam just tends to be my scapegoat - she is my savior and the face of all of my biggest frustrations and that's a heavy load to carry. I hate myself for that. She has strong shoulders, but it's not her job to carry the weight of me.

Before she can hug me or anything I excuse myself. I am still not totally sure why. Maybe because I have to let her go. Maybe because we are just holding off the inevitable - she is leaving and it's not her responsibility to stay here or take care of me.

Maybe I'm scared I might beg her to stay, and even more terrified that she might oblige.

_Everyone I have ever loved has left me._

It just keeps repeating over and over and over and over again in my head; torturing me. Tormenting me.

I sneak out the sliding back door of our house and out onto the back porch. I take in a deep breath only to notice the stale taste on my tongue. I swear I haven't opened my mouth to speak in days. I can't think of anything else to say…

I also haven't seen Finke since my dad died. Obviously he is the more important person I _should_ be seeing, but I don't imagine he'll be able to help me right now. I feel like my head is detached from my body, orbiting in space. I don't feel like I'm here.

_I'm not here._

_This isn't happening._

 

* * *

  _ **Stage Seven**_ _ **:**_ _Acceptance_

So here we are… Stage Seven.

I've revisited all the stages like thirty times in the last few days, so we _should_ be here, right?

This is the part where I'm supposed to talk about a break in the clouds where the sun shines through, or the way the wind blows through the chimes in the oak tree in my backyard, reminding me that my dad is still with me.

Yeah, well. No. Doesn't work that way. And acceptance is _horseshit_.

No one ever truly accepts that someone they love is gone, not _really_. That's why we talk about the "better place," - the Heaven they are floating around in eating lots of ice cream and playing fetch with all of our dead relatives.

That is not _acceptance_.

That is a _delusion_.

Acceptance would be realizing that my father's body was burned in a box. It ignited, inflamed, and made a once breathing, living, thinking, loving, feeling man into a pile of soot and ashes.

My dad is an element now, a piece of the earth, dissipated and scattered into a million places at once like molecules in space. He's everywhere, but he's certainly not _here_. And I am not even sure I believe in heaven anymore. To believe in heaven would be to believe in God… and I am not entirely sure what God's plan in all of this would be. And if there is a God, he gave up on me a long time ago.

I've been sitting out on my old swing set for a while before she finds me.

"This seat taken?" Sam's voice is low and raspy. I give her a meager shrug. I look up at her; her arms are wrapped around the pole holding up my swingset, her cheeks and eyes red from crying. I suddenly realize that the play structure seemed a lot bigger when we were small - the way you go back to your kindergarten classroom and notice how low to the floor the chairs were.

"Wow...I haven't been out on this thing in a long time. Brings back a lot of memories..." Sam sighs listlessly, recalling one of the first times she came over to my house after school with Hannah. Beth fell off the monkey bars and chipped a tooth that day - she never admitted that to anyone because she was so embarrassed. Maybe she was embarrassed because it wasn't like she was 7 or something… she was 13. Such a klutz… and yet always a daredevil. It was always interesting how vastly different the twins were.

Mom and Dad whisked her away to an emergency dentist and got it fixed within barely any time at all. Come Monday at school, no one could even tell the difference in her smile but it was always glaringly obvious to me - that hairline fracture across her front left tooth. Proof that some broken things never go back to how they were before.

"Don't feel like talkin?" Sam presses on, plopping down in the swing beside me. We both look up when we not only feel but _hear_ the old metal bow from our weight. Once a few seconds go by with us still upright and not buried under jagged, weathered metal, we proceed to gently rock back and forth. The squeal from the aged chains holding us up is oddly comforting.

"Not necessarily," I drone back at her. I know Sam well enough, though. It's never stopped her in the past and it certainly isn't going to stop her from pushing now.

"Why are you mad at me?" she asks. I'm not mad at her.

"I'm not mad at you," I spit out quickly, closing my eyes and fighting off one of those mini-headaches.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to Cali-"

"Don't be sorry for that. It was unfair to ask you to come, I'm not sure what I was thinking." I wonder if Sam will ever realize that she doesn't need to fill every uncomfortable silence between us with apologies. I've never even given her one, and I'm the one who should be sorry. I turn towards her, watching her dig her shoe into the soft dirt beneath her swing. "If you're gonna be sorry about something, be sorry for making me so _damn_ happy and then having to leave…" I tell her with a bit of amusement in my voice. I glance at her sideways and see her staring at her feet. "Sam?" Her eyes flicker up to mine.

"Yeah?" I reach forward, taking her chin in my hand.

"More than all that, don't be sorry at all." I let go of her and I shrug, my fingers tightening around the chains of the swing again. "Apologies are overrated and _hardly_ ever sincere, anyway. I mean, look at me. I've said more apologies over the last month and for what? For my dad to die? Karma is a bitch. It was for nothing."

A pause. Heavy silence. And then,

"When do you leave?" I ask blatantly because I'm kinda tired of the cloud hovering over us. It's time to stop pretending we have forever. Our time has an expiration date and I am fairly certain I've always known that about Sam - that it was just a matter of time before she realized she was free to go.

"I'm not sure," she says quietly. "I was thinking of postponing it-"

"I want you to go," I admit, opposite of what I told her a few nights ago. I _have_ to let her go. I couldn't bear the thought of her sticking around here to babysit me. Especially since it is clear that I'm still sick. And getting sicker. Last time I got sick, I tortured her. She needs to get as far away from me as possible.

They all do.

"I don't want you hanging around here anymore." I can't look at her face when she doesn't answer me at first because I know it's going to be that sad, sloped-eyebrow leer she gives me when I break her heart. Which is, apparently, often.

"What?" she utters, confused. I sigh again deeply, irritatedly, my head falling back.

"You heard what I said." It feels like one of those episodes of Lassie where they need her to run away for her own good. _Go on, get outta here. We don't want you anymore, girl!_

"Yeah, I know but… _why?_ " I stand abruptly and the whole structure shakes, running my fingers through my hair and clenching.

"Because you're leaving anyway! And you don't need to help me out anymore, I'll be fine." Sam stands up now, trying to look me in the eyes but I won't meet her gaze because I _can't_ even if I wanted to. There's too much going on around us distracting me; colors and shadows and wavy lines and everything seems slightly askew - I'm just waiting for her face to morph into something from Silent Hill.

" _Josh_ ," she barks sternly, trying to get me to snap out of whatever state I seem to be in. She takes a step back from me, her hand over her heart, the other over her mouth as she begins to cry. Not again, I hate seeing her cry. It's literally the worst. Especially when I am the cause of the tears.

" _What?_ " I practically yell at her and she jumps a bit, startled. Her arms drop down to her sides.

"How long have you been seeing things?" she interrogates me and I give her another uncertain shrug.

"I'm not... _seeing_ things-" I attempt to say, but I can't help but notice the Hannah-esq wendigo standing behind Sam at this very moment.

"Josh, I've seen you like this once before," she tells me, placing a hand on each of my shoulders to keep me from wobbling. I push her hands off of me.

"I'm _fine!_ "

"No, you're not! You're acting like you did that night, back on the mountain!" she shouts. "Did you stop taking your meds again?" The accusatory tone in her voice leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

_I never stopped taking my meds, I'm not an idiot! They just stopped working!_

"Just tell her the truth, Josh," says zombie-Beth now, out of nowhere. I shake the images away but when I open my eyes they are still there, next to Sam, who is watching on in worry. I must look as insane as I feel.

"I.. I didn't stop taking my meds," I mutter over the loudness in my brain. Handigo is growling now, an incessant, low hum. It's making it hard to concentrate.

And then, as it always seems to, everything just switches back to normal. I am slightly out of breath but incredibly relieved that maybe I can convince her that I'm okay now. Maybe even explain what's going on.

" _What_ is going _on_ with you?" she pleads for an answer. I hate the look of sympathy and worry on her face. It makes me feel pathetic. She reaches forward and grabs ahold of my hands. "I noticed this the other day - when you got arrested. Josh, you promised me you'd tell me if you were getting sick again, we can't let you-"

" _We_ don't need to do anything, Sammy. Don't you understand that?" She lets go of my hands and wraps her arms around herself instead. She can't comfort me. Only herself. "Look, I see Finke tomorrow, I'm gonna let him know what's going on, okay?" I assuage.

"But what is going on? Are you seeing things? Hearing things?"

"A-a little bit of everything, okay?" I snap at her, I just want her to go away, _GO AWAY!_ "But it's handled. And it's not your business, anymore. I don't want you here, I don't want you around me. I don't want you mothering me or worrying about me, just go. _Please_ just go."

"But-"

"Would you just leave me alone!" I shout. She takes another tentative step back from me. "Just… stop," I groan into my hands, wishing I had any idea how to properly digest emotions right now. But with everything else going on, I can't comfort her. I can't make her believe me that I'm gonna be alright, because I don't know that. I don't know if I'm ever going to be normal and it's not safe for anyone to be hanging around me, anymore.

Not after _last_ time.

I uncover my eyes to see her disappearing back into my house, her black skirt blowing in the wind a bit. I plot back down on the swing with all of my weight, terribly relieved that I am alone again.

Well… Not totally alone.

"It's just you and me now," I mumble, looking up at my 'sisters.' They smile at me. I deliriously, exhaustedly smile back.

_Nope._

No one ever really accepts it when someone you love has to leave. I'll probably never be able to accept that my sisters are dead. I will never be able to accept the fact that my dad followed right after them. I certainly will never accept that Sam needs to be free of me just to live a happy life.

...The only thing I can try to accept is that I'm insane and there's probably nothing I'll ever be able to do to change that.

* * *

 

_To Be Continued..._


	15. You're Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Haha, suckas! I had too much content to wrap up before this saga ends. Chapter 15 was 18 pages!! So, I split it in half and you get 2 chapters instead of one. Mazel Tov! Be nice and review, I wanna break 100 on this one. Josh deserves it. BTW… This chapter is really freakin' weird. I dunno what part of my brain it came from (or, better yet, Josh's brain) but I hope you dig.
> 
> Chapter 16 will be up in just a bit. I'm just editing it.

 

* * *

 

**Chapter 15:**

_You're Not Alone_

_aka_

_The Beginning of the End feels a lot like Dying, but then you are reborn_

* * *

 

Something happened to me out there on that swing with Sam.

I let the monster in me win, let him have me. I know I shouldn't have but it is so goddamn exhausting to fight him off anymore.

And guys!

 _Guyssss_.

I finally figured out a way to silence my demons, guys.

Well… or at least get them to play nicely with me:

Booze.

Lots and lots and lots and _lots_ of booze. It's making everything hurt a little less (physically AND emotionally), and it's that warm, numbing, tingling, sinking in my brain that keeps me going back for more.

I know, I _know._

I am definitely not supposed to be drinking, but what have I done lately that HASN'T been a breach in my court order? And _don't_ call me a hypocrite - just don't. Mike has a problem. I don't. I can quit at any time.

 

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. My watch goes off._

 

" _Time to take your pill, Josh,"_ I hear a voice instruct me. I glance up and there's Beth, rotting and frozen and utterly terrifying (I said they are playing nice, not that they've gone away. No no. My dead sisters have latched on with no intention of going anywhere).

I only glance at Beth for the smallest of seconds before I clench my jaw, writhe uncomfortably in my seat, and then avert my eyes back to the mess of papers in front of me on my writing desk.

" _Go away,_ " I think, but she can still hear me. She just laughs. She scares me. I don't want to talk to her, right now.

Still, under the watchful eye of my 'sister,' I oblige.

_I take my pill._

The house phone starts ringing, again.

It might have made me jump if my senses weren't so dulled at the moment... or if it hadn't been ringing pretty much off the hook for the last couple hours.

It's either Dr. Finke or Sam - no one else is as incessant as those two. And I'm pretty sure no one else cares to get ahold of me as much as them, either. I haven't seen them for a while now - not since the funeral. They must be worried that I've off'd myself or something.

_Nope, just existing in misery, no big deal._

The answering machine clicks on (yeah, we still have one of those), I can hear my dad's voice echoing from down the hall like a ghost of himself, "Hello, you've reached the Washington's. Please leave a message after the beep. Thanks."

So plain. So _formal._

_But oh, so alive._

When I was a kid, Dad used to have a great time coming up with the most original, goofy answering machine messages, back before he got too busy for mundane things like that. He even let me and my sisters help him out sometimes, which was _so_ cool to us… 'til we messed it up and he got annoyed. It usually ended with him taking over and just doing it himself. But the preparation was the fun part, anyway.

" _If you don't stop messing around you don't get to do it."_

Whoever it was calling hangs up without leaving a message. _Good. Go away._ The house was so quiet for a while that I've been blasting music to distract myself from the emptiness. It's mostly been rock of some kind - the only thing that drowns out the silence. Right now, it's Saosin: You're Not Alone.

But I am alone. Totally and completely alone… I think.

Since the wake my mom's been practically comatose - _a walking dead cast member_ \- and I just don't think she's had the energy to take care of me or make sure I'm not getting into any trouble, so I've pretty much been left to my own devices.

Not that I blame her, and not that I'm complaining.

I think I remember her saying something about going to visit my Aunt Karen at one point, but I haven't had enough sense in me to make the trek over to her side of the house and see if she's even here.

So I just sit at my desk in my room, ignoring the growls and the visions and the voices - silencing them by pouring myself another shot of… I'm actually not even sure anymore. Something else from my dad's liquor cabinet.

Of course it was locked. So I kicked it in. The good stuff was _inside_ , anyway.

My head is heavy, bobbing from side to side as I slave over yet another letter. The originals were just ramblings, _these_ ones are the real ones - my masterpieces.

And they aren't just for me, this time. I am gonna send them out. In fact, I am determined to.

My hand lazily slides across the paper, smudging the still-wet ink from my pen on both the paper and my hand - I'm left-handed so this is nothing new, but the booze is making it extra messy.

 _Dear Mick…_ no wait. That doesn't look right. Scratch that out.

_Dear Mike-_

It's the last one. I look at the sloppily-addressed envelopes in front of me, just hoping the mailman knows how to decipher my child-like penmanship.

 

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. My watch goes off._

 

"Jooosh…" This time it's Hannah's voice, deep and gravelly - a hiss. "Time to take your pill. Don't forget it!"

 _Nag, nag, nag._ They aren't any less annoying with their constant worrying over me than when they were alive. Always reminding me. Always watching me.

_I take my pill._

It goes down smoothly. I chase it with… uhhhh…. whatever it is that's in this tumbler in front of me. Whatever it is, it _doesn't_ go down smoothly. It burns so good.

Okay. Now, where was I?

Oh yes. _Mikey-boy._

Most of the letter is the same as before, but I add a lot of sappy odds and ends.

This is _goodbye_ , afterall.

My lights start to flicker.

_Nononononononononoo-_

I hide my head in my hands. Wait it out.

_It's not real. It's not real._

I just repeat it over and over and over again because if I do, it'll pass. It always passes. I rock myself back and forth, back and forth and-

My eyes pop open with a jolt and my room is dark; daylight is completely gone. Gaps of time are missing more and more these days, jumping from one moment to another and I have no idea where they go to. I look at my hands in the darkness and there's something on them - something dark and dried… like oil or mud or…. Blood?

It startles me and I stand up too quickly, wobbling on my feet and falling backwards over my desk chair. I hit my head hard against my dresser behind me on the way down. It knocks the wind out of me and it feels like there is a demon sitting on my chest, pushing me down, do _wn, down,_ into the floorboards. I yell for help, but it comes out an airless squeak because I can't breathe. So I roll over onto my side, trying to get air but it hurts - I feel like a rib is puncturing my lung - no room to expand and get the breath I am desperately longing for.

I feel like there is a hand wrapping around my ankle and pulling me back, but when I look I realize my foot is just tangled up in a button up shirt on the floor. For some reason, even knowing that it's just a shirt doesn't ease the fear inside of me. I start army crawling across my floor like a crazy pers-

 

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. My watch goes off._

 

"Take your pill, Josh. It'll make you feel better." I'm not even sure which sister is whispering this time. I see the bottle has fallen to the floor in front of me, the contents of the orange capsule strewn about under my desk. I pick up the little, pink, oblong tablet. My vision blurs a bit as I study it, then bring it in.

_I take my pill._

"Get up," Hannah hisses again. I can still hear Beth giggling. It's eerie as hell, sends a shiver right down my spine.

I clumsily get to my feet, finally gaining some balance, because I'm on a mission. Because they told me to. I stumble to my desk and grab my letters and notice that Mike's is done now, sealed up in an envelope. I don't remember writing it.

I'm ready to mail them out, I think? They're signed and sealed and stamped, so I gotta get out to the mailbox - It feels like the most important thing in the world… but why I feel I need to do this in the dark of night is beyond me.

Nothing's making sense _, nothing_ is making _sense_. And yet... it _all_ makes sense.

I somehow make it to the stairs and moan, choking down vomit. Now I'm _really_ not feeling very well. I lean against the railing but it's no use because my coordination is shot. I fall. Hard. Letters fluttering around me like snowflakes.

_Thud._

I hear a snap, a pop.

You know, like 2/3 of the ways to describe Rice Krispies.

I _think_ I'm screaming, but I can't really hear anything over to horrifying, agonizing pain in my wrist.

"Mommmm," I yell out, but it's no use. I cradle my shattered wrist in my other arm, groaning and grunting. My face is hot and wet - I'm not sure if it's sweat or tears but it stings my eye. I reach up to see why, only to realize I'm bleeding from some phantom wound on my forehead.

My house phone starts ringing again, I can hear it over the deafeningly loud music.

 

_He says he's got nothing left to live for (says he's got nothing left)_

_And this time I think you'll know_

_You're not alone, there is more than this I know_

_You can make it out, you will live to tell_

 

Now that I realize what bad shape I'm in, getting to that phone suddenly feels imperative.

Once again, by some miracle, I find a way back to my feet. I'm so so so dizzy. And nauseous. And drunk. And delirious. Regardless of those obstacles, I am at the bottom of the stairs now, trying in vain to remember just where the fucking phone is-

 

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. My watch go of._

 

_What, already? But I thought I-_

"Do it, Josh," they whisper. "Do it now." I look down, stunned to see the pill bottle in my hand. I finagle the lid off.

_I take my piiiilllllllllllllllllll_

"Josh!" I can hear my name from the dining room - the answering machine. Right. _That's_ where we keep it. "Josh, are you there? You _need_ to pick up the phone, you're scaring me!"

It's Sam.

Without thinking I call out to answer her, but only because it takes my mind a few moments to remember that she can't hear me.

"She can't save you, Josh," Hannah tells me, her mouth lined with several, sharp, yellowing teeth. They aren't nice anymore, not like they were at the police station. I liked them better that way… I don't like it when they're mean.

"No one can," Beth chimes. _Well, thanks ladies. Way to kick a guy when he's down._

But I know it's not really them - they are manifestations of my own insane, unbalanced mind. The real Hannah and Beth would never say something like that to me. My sisters _love_ me.

I then remember my whole objective in the first place. Scattered down and across the stairs are my letters.

I hiss in pain on my way over to them, leaning down carefully to fetch them with one good hand and maybe a broken rib. My vision is blurry and I try to tune out the sounds my sisters' menacing laughter. I walk in what feels like slow motion but freeze when I look around me. It no longer looks like my house. No… it looks like the lodge. The bottom of the stairs by the Cinema room.

No. Nononononono I can't be back he-

"Sam. Saa-aam." I can hear that horrible audio I made with the voice changer for Sam's part of the prank, and it makes my stomach sink. She runs right past me in her towel, screaming. I can't stop her because… well, it isn't real. It's like I'm watching it unfold in front of me, and there's nothing I can do.

"Sam!" I call out after her, but when she looks back at me, I see a monster reflected in her eyes.

"No! Stay away!" she screams through tears. I'm the monster.

 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. _Y wach goes of._

 

_No… no no no that's not right._

Handigo is here now in the blink of an eye, hovering above me. She yanks me by the collar of my shirt and hoists me up.

"Take your pill," she screeches (no, not really. But I assume that is what she is saying…). Obviously I don't wanna die, so...

_I tak my pil._

I fall to the ground with a crash.

Everything fades to black.

And then…

I don't know how long I've been laying there, where I fell. I'm wavering in and out of consciousness, but I do know it feels like my head is being cradled. I try to open my eyes but they will only open for little, fluttering seconds before darkness is back.

But when I _can_ get my eyes open, I can see Sam's beautiful, worried face staring down at me. She's not in a towel anymore. When I try to look around it doesn't look like the lodge either, just the bottom landing of my stairs. I don't know if she's really here or not.

"Josh, can you hear me?" she is calling out, but I can only groan in return. My entire body hurts. I can hear people rustling around me, shoes against hardwood floors. "Chris, get his legs," Sam orders, but it all sounds muffled and garbled.

"Josh, stay with us," Chris' voice chimes, and I can feel my body being thrashed around a bit, like someone's trying to move me or roll me over but I'm straight dead weight.

Many frantic, terrified and disembodied voices. I can't tell them apart.

"He's bleeding-"

"Where's his mom, did you find her, Ash?"

"She's not in her room, I don't think she's here."

"Josh, what did you take?"

"What's that bottle in his hand? Jessica, grab that out of his hands-"

"Would someone turn this shitty music off?"

"I think his arm is broken-"

"Are those... _pills?_ "

"Josh, stay awake, you need to stay awake."

"The ambulance is on it's way. Mike, call Melinda, her number's on the fridge!"

"What are all these letters?"

_The letters. My letters._

"Sam," I mumble, but I'm not sure if I say it out loud or if all of this is in my head.

"Josh? Are you trying to tell me something?" I am about to tell her I need to send my letters, but instead I roll to my side and expel my insides - I haven't eaten in a few days, so it's mostly bile and liquor.

"Dis- _gusting!_ " I definitely recognize that voice as Em's. What's _she_ doing here? Did she bring the ugly bag?

"Sam, it's all over you!" That's definitely Ashley.

 

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. My watch go ob._

 

Pill… I need my-

"What is that sound?" Matt.

"I think it's his watch." Chris. "Sam, is that his watch?"

A few silent seconds, I feel her fidgeting with my other wrist.

"Yeah.. it's on snooze. I turned it off."

There's one, last, little pill in my hand. They didn't find it when they took the bottle.

_Take pull._

 

Everything goes silent. Everything goes back to black.

 

* * *

 

 

_I'm standing in a field._

No, not just _any_ field, though.

It's the clearing outside the lodge, back in Blackwood Pines - _God, it feels like a small eternity since I've been here._

I look up at the pink sky that hangs over the canopy of evergreen treetops, pointing to a "V" of birds fly diagonal above me, probably off to somewhere warmer. There's a bit of a nip in the air, late-mid September scents that make you instantly feel the bittersweetness of nostalgia.

_This would have been one of our last visits to the mountain before winter._

Until then, October - January, the lodge typically sat empty. Vacant like a huge, sleeping giant on the hill.

' _Take it in, Josh._ Appreciate _this,'_ a voice tells me _. 'We can never go back to this again.'_

I am aware of the fact that however I got here, it isn't _real._ Like being a conscious part of your own dream. It feels so surreal, like an M.C. Escher painting, spiraling out infinitely in all different directions. No start and no end.

"Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna pitch the ball?" A voice hollers over at me, and it's only then that I realize that _I'm not alone_.

_Beth._

She's standing on what we have designated as "home plate," (which is really just an old outdoor cushion from our patio chair). She's warming up her arms with the bat in her hands, nodding her head from side to side to loosen up her neck. She looks like a pro. That one year of softball really prepared her for this.

"C'mon, Josh, I'm ready to go inside!" Hannah whines from behind me. I glance over my shoulder; she's standing on third, just itching to get to home so we can… well, get home. She never had much patience for these things; she wasn't competitive like Beth and I. She's wrapping her arms around herself and practically shivering, fighting the chill in the air because she's only wearing a tank top - underdressed for the weather, as usual.

They aren't scary, anymore. Or transformed. Or… anything other than my beautiful, vibrant, (alive) sisters. The thought squeezes on my heart, and I want nothing more than to grab onto them and bring them back with me. Back to...

_Wait… am I dead? Is this heaven?_

"Those s'mores aren't gonna eat _themseeeelves_ ," Sam's voice suddenly chimes. I then know it can't possibly be heaven because if it were, I wouldn't be doomed to hang out with Samantha forever (I know, who am I kidding. We both know that's exactly what my heaven would be).

I see her squatting behind Beth, an umpire's mask blocking most of her face. She peels it off, offering me a vibrant smile. "I even brought vegan marshmallows!" she adds, brightly.

"Ughhh…" the rest of us groan in unison. Sam sticks out her tongue and hides behind her mask again, punching her fist into the catcher's mitt and crouching down again.

"Why do we ever let her be in charge of snacks?" Beth wonders, flatly. I am suddenly overcome with deja vu -this isn't a vision. This has happened before; I've been here, in this exact spot with them. I'm reliving a memory.

"Because if we didn't she'd _starve_ ," Hannah snorts, and I whisper it right along with her in unison. I remember this. I remember everything about this moment.

" _Let's go!_ " Sam demands. She used to tell me that hanging out with the Washington Siblings was like herding cats, what with our short attention spans and unimpressed demeanor.

"Josh?" Beth asks, her face suddenly worried. "You okay?"

"He's trying to figure out if this is all real or not," Hannah calls back over, breaking the memory up and creating a new reality.

"Is this a dream?" I finally ask them. Sam stands, taking off the umpire's mask again. She leans on Beth and offers a shrug.

"It's whatever you want it to be, Josh," she tells me. It's so bizarre, steadily straddling reality and perception. I look around us, the colors seem more vibrant, everything has a bit of a sheen. "Throw the ball and see."

I stare down at the white, leathery orb in my hand. It feels real. It all feels real.

I crank my arm back and pitch the ball, watching it suspend in the air, seemingly in slow motion. I can see everything around me all at once; the dust in the air is reflecting off the last bits of sunlight, surrounding us. There's a deafening _clack_ of the ball hitting Beth's bat, but instead of watching it soar through the sky (definitely a home run), it explodes into hundreds of butterflies… all different colors and types.

It's…. _Magical?_

Yeah.

Magical.

They flutter around in countless directions, mesmerizing in their beauty, maddening in their complexity. We watch in awe, some even touch down upon us. One lands on the back of my hand; it's huge and cerulean, its wings intricately painted with different shapes and patterns. I've never seen one like it before. It takes off and I watch it fly away before turning towards my sisters and Sam.

"Where are we?" I ask them.

"We're _here_ ," Hannah tells me happily, her arms outstretched.

"No but… where's _here?_ "

"Where we all go, eventually," Beth laughs. Shrugs. "Home."

I decide not ask any more questions as they seem insistent upon speaking in riddles. They look so happy though in the afterglow of the last bit of summer-sunlight, butterflies surrounding their heads like halos.

"Alright then," I finally relent, and when I go to look at Sam, I can see her walking back towards the steps of the lodge. She turns, grandly gesturing with her arms, waving me over.

"C'mon! Let's go!" She tells me. I shake my head and chuckle, she's the most magnificent, beautiful creature. I'd probably follow her to hell and back if she asked me to. I sigh, following after her for a few steps until I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. When I glance back at Beth and Hannah, I realize they haven't moved.

"W-what are you guys doin'?" I ask, oblivious laughter still in my voice. They aren't laughing anymore - in fact, they look serious. I put my hands in my pockets, slowly walking back towards him.

"Josh," Sam calls out, I look back at her. Her hand is extended out to me, her smile beaming. "You coming?" I nod hesitantly, unsurely.

"Just a sec," I barely say over a whisper as I approach Hannah and Beth on the field. "Come on, guys. Let's go…" I feel short of breath, because for some reason I know what's happening. They exchange a glance, then stare back at me longingly.

"We can't go with you anymore, Josh," Hannah finally says, meekly. I wet my dry, cracked lips with my tongue. My chest aches - I want to take them back with me so bad it physically hurts.

"Yeah you can-" I begin to protest, but Beth steps forward and pulls me into a hug, Hannah slowly following suit.

"You _know_ we can't," Beth speaks into my shirt. I feel my eyes sting with tears, my heart thumping painfully against my ribs. I close my eyes, my nose is filled with the scent of them. They say scent is the sense most closely tied to memory, and it's true. My mind is instantly flooded with thousands of memories of them, all at the same time.

"Then I can go with _you,_ " I suggest blankly, my cheek pressed up tightly against the top of Beth's head. She pulls away from me, keeping me at arm's length as she sighs and shakes her head.

"Not yet," she tsks, and Hannah agrees.

"Not for a _looooong_ time." I swallow, hard.

"Will you guys still be around?" I ask them, my voice wavering. They don't have to answer me - I know the answer. I wipe away the tears that I'm not too ashamed to cry because… _this is it._

 

 _This_ is goodbye.

 

Something inside me tells me that this is the last time I am going to see my sisters, hallucinations or not. This is the last time.

"Josh!" Sam calls from the porch. I glance back at her. She is calling me away from them. I get it now.

"C'mon girls, time to go!" I hear my dad's voice; I can't tell where it's coming from, but Hannah and Beth's eyes lock onto the thick, darkening forest behind me. There's a path.

"Was that dad?" I ask them excitedly. They don't really acknowledge me, just brush past me and start heading towards the path in the forest. "Where is he? Can I see him?"

They look at one another again, then back at me.

"You need to go now, Josh," Beth tells me squeezing onto my hand. "And so do we."

Hannah blows me a kiss and Beth lets my hand slip from hers as they walk into the forest together. I can still hear their laughter well after I can't see them anymore.

Sam's still waiting for me on the lodge stairs, patiently.

"Ready?" she asks me. I nod without words. There's nothing else to say.

 

I'm just not supposed to go where they're going.

 

* * *

 

_To Be Continued..._


	16. I Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: When I started writing chapter 15, it became 18 pages so I split it in half. (Okay, not REALLY in half because chapter 15 was like 9 pages and this one, after editing, is now 17. There were just too many loose ends to tie up before the final chapter. So...Ya welcome.)
> 
> AAAAnd here it is.
> 
> The next chapter should be the last. I love you all. Review.

 

* * *

**Chapter 16:**

_I Found_

_aka_

_I’m Not Dead & Turns Out I Still Have Friends. Who Knew? _

* * *

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

_My watch goes-_

_Wait, no._

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

_My dad's heart monit-_

_No._

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

_My_ _heart monitor._

My eyes crack open to the brightness of daylight and a blindingly white hospital room (I've been in enough to know that right away, no matter how crazy or loopy I am). I blink a few times. My vision is hazy, but as I glance around me. First, I notice the horribly unflattering hospital gown I'm in.

Next, I see a little redhead curled up in a chair beside the window, totally content, with her face obscured by a book.

My eyes squint to make out the title. It's hard because the binding is worn down and it looks a little tattered, as though it's been read a trillion times.

_The Age of Innocence._

I inwardly cringe. That book is boring as hell (not that I actually finished it when we were forced to read it in Senior English).

But I distinctly remember _one_ particular classmate - a junior taking senior English, I might add - who not only adored that book, but had already read it long before the assignment. She drove me crazy. Like, by the end of class my eyes literally hurt from rolling every time her hand flew up to offer her answers and theories on each chapter. _Teacher's pet._ Eager to please and even more eager to learn and offer what she knows.

_Ashley._

As though she can hear my thoughts, her head curiously pops up over the book, her eyes locking with mine and growing huge.

This is it. She's here to kill me while I am too weak to stop her.

"Heeey… Welcome back," she finally says, and I can faintly even see the beginnings of a comforting smile, but I can't be too sure. She sets her book down (way too gently for how utterly destroyed that book already is) and gets up from her chair, dragging her feet over to me slowly, hesitantly.

"H-how're you feeling?" she asks me, and I can't tell if she is nervous or terrified - probably both. She is fidgety and tense, like a little kid going to sit on Santa's lap for the first time.

 _How am I feeling?_ I mull on that question. Well, at the moment, my mouth is so dry it feels plastered shut. My eyes find the water in the paper cup by my bedside.

"Water?" Ashley's a bright one. She notices what I'm looking at right away and offers it to me.

At least, I'm _hoping_ she's offering it to me, because I can barely nod my heavy head to reply to her. I feel like my body weighs an actual ton.

Ashley takes the cup, bringing it to me and guiding the straw to my mouth, which is wayyyy too nice of her, considering everything. After I start to drink I don't want to stop, I feel so dehydrated and weak. I gulp down most of the water and lay my head back, taking a gasp of air.

"Better?" Her voice and face are equally amused, and I can't help but feel guilty for how nice she's being to me.

"Yeah," I unhinge my jaw and my voice doesn't sound like my own. She smirks at the hoarseness - that, or the fact that she could smother me with a pillow, lulling me into a sweet death and no one would be any the wiser.

"You're like the Tinman from Wizard of Oz," she observes, trying to inject a little humor or lightness into our _noticeably_ awkward moment together - but of _course_ it's gotta be a book reference (yes, children. Wizard of Oz was a book well before the flying monkeys graced the silver screen). I think I feel my face smirk back at hers in response, but I can't tell for sure.

"What are you doing here?" I ask after a moment of agonizing silence. She gives me a slight shrug.

"We should ask you the same question…" she defies. She turns from me and takes a hold of her chair, pulling it over and plopping down into it next to my bed. She shakes her head, breathlessly asking me, "What were you _thinking_ , Josh?"

I look around the bland, sterile hospital room. The foggy fragments of everything I've been through slightly begin to take shape in my mind.

_The letters. The voices. The alcohol. The pills (plural). The monsters. My sisters… Sam?_

"We?" I ask. Ashley stares at me with those big doe eyes and I'm actually kinda glad she's here. It's nice to see a recognizable face. I can't imagine what I'd be thinking if I woke up here alone.

"Yeah… Em, Matt, Mike…we've all been here. Kinda taking turns hanging out with you 'til you woke up…" She's unable to look at me directly now as she tucks some of her loose, auburn hair behind her ear. "We were kinda scared you wouldn't."

_That's heavy, man._

" _Wow,_ " I breathe. "I can't believe you all came."

"Sam made us," she makes sure to clarify quickly before I can get _too_ excited that people actually cared.

But Ashley isn't that way. She never has been. She would never let me believe that my friends were only here because Sam forced them to be (which wouldn't totally surprise me because she's incredibly persuasive, even for her small stature).

Ashley lets go of the breath she's holding before reaching into her back pocket and pulling out an envelope. It's torn open.

"And also… because of _this_."

"What's that?"

"Your letter," she tells me, slight confusion painting her features. I slowly shake my head.

"I don't remember…" I admit barely above a whisper. I have no idea what any of the letters said. I don't even remember how I got them sent out. Ashley hesitates, then she carefully slides the folded paper out from the envelope, her hands shaky as she begins to read from it.

" _Dear Ashley…_ You didn't deserve the pain I put you through. The memories from that night will haunt you for forever, just as much as they haunt me and for that I don't deserve forgiveness. Not from you. Not from _any_ of you."

' _Wow, way to sound pathetic and self-loathing there, Joshua,_ ' I think but don't say. But nothing I have told her in my letter so far is untrue. I guess it just took being in a completely altered state of mind to finally, truly admit it. She keeps reading. I don't stop her.

"For some reason in my grief, I thought... I thought that teaching you guys a lesson would make everything better - it didn't. Obviously. All I know now is that I am broken beyond repair and that I need to end things before my mind takes over and I hurt-" she pauses, choking on her words. Her eyes are glistening, still staring at the quaking paper in her hands.

_I don't remember writing any of this. And I don't like where it is going._

She clears her throat and regains composure, "-I need to end things before my mind takes over and I hurt someone again. Chris is so lucky to have you, Ashley - and you are so lucky to have him. You have to take care of him. He's shit at keeping his car clean and Super Mario Brothers but he'll get better in time if you help him practice." She kinda chuckles at that part, but when I look at her I realize she's crying through the laughter. "He really _is_ shit at keeping his car clean," she comments, taking in a staggered breath before continuing to read. " _Talk_ to each other - don't let things go unsaid anymore just because you guys are scared. You conquered me _and_ monsters, and I truly believe there's nothing you can't do together. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I love you. I love you. Josh."

We sit in silence, aside from her fiddling with the paper to put it back in the envelope. It is actually horribly embarrassing to hear that, especially since I don't remember writing it and I'm not usually one to get all sappy.

' _Pathetic,'_ I can do well. ' _Sappy,'_ not so much.

But more than that, I'm mortified that it sounds _suspiciously_ like a suicide letter, and that makes my stomach swirl. I don't want to die… but I have no idea what was going through my mind that night. Whatever it was, it was _dark._ Um, _clearly._

"Ash-" I begin, but I can't find the right words. That's fine. It turns out she's not done laying into me yet - in the most loving way, of course.

"You're a _jerk_ ," she sniffs, wiping under her eyes to clear away the tears carefully, trying not to smudge her mascara. I don't have the heart to tell her it's no use - it's already streamed down her face. She looks like a sad raccoon-clown. Chris would prob find it adorable if he were here... and I would prob find it horrifying if I started to hallucinate.

"Why am I a jerk _this_ time? C'mon! I thought my letter was _nice..._ " I grumble. She shakes her head in astonishment.

"You really have no clue, do you?"

Now I shake _my_ head. To say I am a confused man is the understatement of the century. I apologized… twice! What else is she mad about?

She sits back in her chair, taking in a sharp breath.

"Do you have any idea what your little overdose did to us? To Chris, your best friend? To your _mom_?" she scolds me. I don't react, I don't know how. "To Sam?" she adds. That gets my heart to skip a beat, and she can see it made an impact, so she goes with it. "Yeah. Sam. Remember _her?_ The one who's been there for you through your sister's' disappearance and even after your prank? The one who was there when no one wanted anything to do with you again? Who has been your contender more times than I can count and has always seen the good in you? The one who told us all we should go up to the lodge for you when none of us wanted to go?" She's spouting this all off quickly like a madman - _er, manwoman_. I can hardly make out everything she's saying.

_Hold on there, Nessie. What?_

"What do you mean by _that_?" I ask her. It comes out kinda snotty. Didn't mean for it to. She goes to answer me but freezes and I can tell she's thinking. She probably can't even remember everything she's just said.

"Wait.. which part?"

"Sam... _told_ you all to go up to the lodge in February?"

"Oh. Yeah," she says meekly, but then she's animated once more. "It's totally weird to have an anniversary for your sisters at the place they went missing with the people who caused it, by the way..." I stick out my bottom lip, shrug and nod. She has me on that one. Totally weird. I'm surprised anyone came at all. It's borderline demented and just shows what state of mind I was in when I planned it.

" _Touuuuu_ ché…" I take another sip of my water.

"So, understandably all of us were either too guilty or creeped out to go. But Sam told everyone they HAD to go. She said even though it was hard, especially for her, that we _owed_ it to you to support you…It's part of why she was so damned and determined to help you fix things with everyone," Ashley explains. She pauses, biting softly on her bottom lip while she contemplates finishing her rant. "I just…. I think part of her felt just as responsible for that night as you were just for convincing us all to go up there..." I feel like the whole bed is pulled out from under me in one swift, fleeting motion.

"That's _crazy_." I practically whisper. "Of _course_ she wasn't-"

"I know that!" says loudly, and the suddenness of it all makes me jump a bit. She's like a cartoon character half the time - I forgot about that, since I haven't hung out with her in so long. "We _all_ do. But now she feels responsible for your most recent episode, too…" she confesses.

_No. Nonono, that's not right. Sam didn't do this to me. I did this to me. I-_

Wait.

I should be feeling anxious and worked up by now, but I don't.

_Strange._

And as important as that realization is, there's something even more important that I want to address with her. I turn in my bed, staring hole through her so she knows I mean what I am about to say.

"Ashley… I wasn't trying to kill myself," I tell her. I don't want to die or hurt Sam or my mom in that way… I don't know what was going on that night. Maybe it was some kind of reaction between the booze and my insanity and my pill but… I wasn't _trying_ -

Ashley leans back in towards me and my mind empties, especially as she rests her hand on mine. She's never done that. Not even when we _were_ friends.

"Josh… c'mon. You...you took 27 Klonopin and chased it with a fifth of brandy."

Well, then. That's news to me. _No one can say I don't know how to party._

"Sam called us when she couldn't get ahold of you and we all met at your place. You were unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, barely alive. Broken wrist. Fractured rib. Head wound...We called an ambulance and they took you..." she stops and I can see she her imagining it all in that brain of hers, the look on her face becoming almost haunting. "I can't even tell you what a wreck Chris was. I had to hold him together, he was a mess… I don't know how I would have fixed him if you-" she doesn't finish that sentence, just stares down at her hands in her lap, fidgeting nervously with the tattered envelope in her hands.

I swallow even though my mouth is dry, "Is he okay now?"

"No, Josh. _No one_ is."

As groggy and confused as I am, I am also starting to feel a little stronger so I sit up a bit in my bed. I want to acknowledge everything she's just said to me but it is way too much to take in, so instead I ask,

"How...how long have I been out of it?" She sighs, her shoulders slumping, exhaustedly. I'm sure she was hoping she wasn't going to have to explain everything to me. She must have drawn the short straw.

"Well, you were on 5150 involuntary psychiatric hold for about a week. They kept you sedated for most of it. Sam told them what you told her at your dad's funeral; that your pills weren't working anymore. They think they might have gotten you on the right medication, now."

_Saint Samantha. My heroine. Always saving me. Always, always saving me._

And well, that would explain why my emotions feel so even and I'm not freaking out on Ashley or seeing/hearing things.

"They _just_ let you start having visitors a few days ago. You've mostly just been sleeping…"

"Mostly?" What exactly was I doing when I wasn't sleeping, and why don't I remember it? Everything feels so fuzzy, like there are holes in my memory. I think I remember butterflies?

"You'd have a couple minutes of lucidness, talking about Beth and Hannah… baseball... _Sam…_ " Her face lights up as she pulls out her phone, her thumbs ghosting over the screen.

"What're you doing?"

"Letting them know you're awake. They're going to be so relieved." She sends the text out and exhales as though it were the hardest task in the world. I raise an eyebrow at her, studying the iPhone in her hand.

"Thought you swore you'd never get a smartphone," I tease. She laughs as she recalls a conversation we'd had before everything happened - Chris and I mercilessly made fun of her for having a dinosaur of a phone. But between my super spy phone and my kiddie phone, I can no longer judge her. Especially since after my latest stunt, I bet I'm back to no-phone.

" _Yeahhhh…_ Chris kinda forced me into it. It annoyed him to no end that I still had that flip phone from six years ago. He not-so-subtly got me this for my birthday. I'm still getting used to it." She looks pleasantly uncomfortable chatting it up with me, probably realizing that we are talking like old times and she isn't sure how she feels about that yet. To be honest, neither am I. But I'm sort of glad it's happening.

"Of _course_ he did," I snort with an eyeroll. Ashley's face twists and she suddenly looks distraught, pained even. It worries me a little. I hope she's not about to stroke out on me, now. Not after all this progress. That would have been a lot of touchy-feely talk for nothin'.

"What's uh… what's with the face?" I'm referring to her painful grimace (and not her still-streaked mascara). She looks slightly offended.

"I was born with it. What's with _your_ face?" she chides. She's the strangest of creatures, that one.

"No, I mean... you just looked like you were in pain or something…" I correct. She gives me a sheepish grin, her cheeks and nose pink from being so defensive.

"Oh, it's nothing it's just… I've had this headache. It started when I-" she stops herself, unsure whether or not to continue. But we're on a roll now, so why not?

"Just say it. You used to tell me things all the time. Just pretend like I _didn't_ terrorize you for one night and we're good to go," I coax. I wish I could say I was joking. She tries not to smile and she almost succeeds. Then she gives a cavalier shrug that is _hardly_ believable - she is still far too guarded to be that nonchalant with me.

"Since I got on this new medication."

"Oh. What is it?" I guess that could be considered a rude question, but when have I ever had social grace? She still looks like she might not want to go into it, but I don't really care. Just stare at her awkwardly and expectantly.

"Lexapro," she finally says when she realizes I am not giving up. I shudder. Ooohhh, I remember Lexapro. It was not my favorite antidepressant.

"Yeah, I used to be on Lexapro. Those headaches were the _worst_ ," I sympathize. Her eyes soften. She licks her lips, intrigued with my intel.

"You _did_?" she asks. I laugh. In her face. She takes it like a champ.

"Ash, _please_. I've been on all of it. Zoloft, Klonopin, Celexa, Effexor, Xanex, Prozac..." I begin to list off. And those are just the tip of the iceberg. She suddenly looks excited, having realized that I am a well of knowledge when it comes to meds like this, and if there's one thing that really reels Ashley in, it's the opportunity to soak more information into that sponge-like brain of hers. "They even had me on Adderall when they thought my behavior was a symptom of ADHD."

She gets up and brazenly sits at the end of my bed - I am not even sure she realizes that she did. She's too entranced now to notice.

"I used to be on Effexor," she tells me excitedly, but then she's crestfallen. "It was okay. But they had to take me off because of the-"

"Brain zaps?" I finish for her, and her eyes grow three times their size.

" _Yes!"_ she gasps, and it says so much more than that. It says, _you understand. You get it. "_ You too?"

"Yeah, and the withdrawal symptoms were like my own, personal hell…" She laughs and nods in agreement, then we sit in yet another quiet lull - just long enough to appreciate the fact that this moment really _does_ seem healing. I clear my throat to break up the silence; I can only take so much staring without talking before my skin crawls. "But um… hey. If the Lexapro doesn't even out in a few weeks, I really liked Wellbutrin…" I say quietly. She just smiles and nods. "I'm sorry you have to be on those meds, now… It sucks." I add. I don't include ' _because of me._ ' She already knows that.

Ashley's head falls back, chuckling a bit.

"Um… well. It's okay. And not even totally your fault."

"What do you mean?"

"Turns out I actually have a very long family history of anxiety and depression. I didn't even know this, but I guess my mom's been on antidepressants for most of her adult life." She looks like she's relieved. Like she's gotten some peace. Another shrug. "I think I would have ended up needing them eventually, anyway. And with my group therapy sessions, I might not have to be medicated forever."

' _Atta girl. That's how you do it._ That's how you battle mental illness: with patience and understanding and as much positivity as you can muster. She's already a pro.

"I'm glad you're doing so well, Ash. I mean that. You're gonna be A-OK." She nods, a little bit dazed.

"I know. So are you. And… maybe if you're ever feelin' up to it… you can come to one of my group sessions. It's really helped me."

"Yeah," I smile. For real this time. "Maybe."

It's gonna be okay. Everything is going to be just fine.

Ash and I hear a knock from the doorway, and I get a little overexcited at the prospect that it might be Sam, only to lock eyes with Matt, instead.

"Hey, I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" he asks us politely. _Way too politely_. Matt has always been disgustingly, _ridiculously_ polite. I remember all the times he came over to party at my place and how he'd go around collecting beer bottles, getting them ready for recycling. It drove me crazy how much that caught Sam's attention… especially when he did it after she'd just gotten done scolding me for throwing away a 'perfectly recyclable beer can' in the garbage.

And then one time I had him over for dinner, he started clearing the table. My mom and dad were in awe, then looked at me like I was such a disappointment. _Where did we go wrong with him_ , their eyes seemed to say. Always makin' me look bad.

_I am totally kidding, by the way._

Sure, those things still happened, but other than holding the camera on the night they played the prank on my sister, I never had any grudges against him - he ran in Beth and Emily's crowd more than mine, anyways.

_Wait… speaking of which…_

Emily (in very expensive clothes and holding the very ugly purse) follows right after him, staring daggers into me.

" _Please._ Interrupt. It's getting _wayyyy_ too mushy in here," Ashley jokes flatly, getting up and dragging her chair back over by the window.

"Good to see you, man. We thought you were a goner…" Everyone kinda winces at his lack of tact. Okay, he's a nice enough guy, but definitely not the smartest. As he approaches the bed, and I'm not totally sure what to expect, but he gives me a high-five. Emily stays a safe distance away and crosses her arm, her hip and attitude out.

"Bout time you woke up," she says to me, but instead of the usual shit and vinegar I get from Emily, I can see the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. She still hasn't ventured too far into the room, but then Matt backtracks to her and mumbles something quietly in her ear. They argue in harsh whispers for a few seconds before he nudges her forward, much to her obvious annoyance. She shoots him a glare and for once, Matt doesn't back down or cower to her. She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she approaches my bed.

 _And what happened then? Well, in stories they'll say - that Emily's heart grew_ _three_ _sizes this day. (Dr. Seuss is the man.)_

She leans down and gives me a hug. It's not the strongest hug, or the longest, but it's certainly a surprise.

"We were pretty worried about you," she admits. I'm kinda shell-shocked, and I can't even begin imagine what my letter to her must have said to melt _her_ cold, cold heart. I don't have to wonder long, because she takes my letter from her purse. She doesn't read it to me ( _thank sweet baby Jesus_ ), but she does pull out a photograph I had slipped into the envelope along with the letter. She looks down at it for a moment, shaking her head and choking out, "Where did you even find this?"

And since I'm not clairvoyant, I reach my hand out for her to give it to me and I can even see what she's talking about. Em hands me the photograph and I study it for a moment - it's a picture of Emily and Beth, probably around 6 years old. They were geared up in their maroon soccer shirts and cleats, Em missing her two front teeth and Beth missing one, the other just barely hanging on. They have their arms draped around one another, their pink, plastic 'best friends' half-heart necklaces they got at Chuck E. Cheese's dangling from their necks.

God, I remember this day as though it were yesterday - Beth got the ball kicked in her face, hard, right after this. She didn't cry, she was way too embarrassed. Instead she got pissed. I've never seen her play anything so aggressively. She got back in there and scored like four goals that game, and somehow even managed to trip the girl who kicked the ball in her face in the first place. _She was ruthless._

It doesn't have the same overwhelming affect on me, looking at a picture of my baby sister, the way it would have even a few days ago… but it still stings.

"In Beth's room," I say back shortly, as I give the photograph back to her. She hugs it against her heart with tears in her eyes and reaches into the neck of her shirt, pulling out her half of the necklace. She offers me a small, sad smile.

"She was my best friend," she tells me. I know, already, though. I never understood _why_ , but it was true. Emily and Beth had a strong bond from the moment they met. It still makes me sick knowing Emily was the one to find Beth's remains. Maybe knowing that has given me some type of sympathy towards the girl, no matter how mean she is or how bad her taste is.

The fact is, Emily wasn't always this way.

I remember having her around for most of my childhood, and she was a bit of sweetheart. Sure, she was rich and spoiled and catty, but her friendship with Beth was pure. After Beth went missing, especially knowing she had a role in the events that led to her disappearing, something inside of Emily snapped and she was never really the same, sweet girl. A lot of us wagered that's why Mike broke it off with her. That, and the fact that their young love was no match for the complicated effects of grief and guilt on a couple of teenagers.

"She loved you too, Em…" I divulge, but it's not like it was a secret. I am a little uncomfortable with everyone staring at us, so of course I have to add, "Even if you are a bit of an asshole." She laughs, and it's the first time I've heard her laugh since…. _Wow._ Since before Beth died.

"The feeling's mutual," serves back. She mouths _thank you_ , and that's about all we need for me to know we're alright. Maybe, just maybe, she and I will even be able to be friends. I am, after all, a piece of Beth. I carry her around with me everywhere I go. In my mind, in my heart… even in my DNA.

"You get a letter too?" I ask, my head lazily falling over to Matt. His arm falls over Emily's shoulder, the other stuffed in his pocket.

" _Yeahhhh…_ but it wasn't so much a letter as much as it was you telling me I could have the football your dad got you. You know... The one signed by Brett Favre," he clarifies, but he didn't have to. It's not like I have more than one of those things. There's an awkward silence, but then Matt clears his throat nervously and asks, "soooo... is that still on the table _or-_ " His smile is bright and charming - _I mean, who could say no to that face?_ Emily elbows him roughly in the stomach. He lets out an ' _oomph_ ' and a laugh.

I'm sure in Matt's opinion, a signed Green Bay Packer's football is _wayyyy_ better than a stupid apology letter anyways… (that's to say he could have even _read_ it.) _I kid, I kid._

"I don't even like football that much. It's all yours, my friend," I drone, my eyelids getting heavy from all this socializing. Matt's beyond pleased by this. Kid looks like he won the lottery.

"Thanks man. I'll cherish it." He seems genuinely touched, I just kinda shrug.

"You can throw it in a dumpster for all I care. Green Bay's been shit since he went to the Giants, anyway."

" _Helloooooo_ ," we hear a familiar blonde sing from the doorway.

_Now now, don't get too excited. Not THAT familiar blonde._

It's Jess, her hand clasped tightly onto Mike's.

_Ah, great. The rest of the Peanut Gallery has arrived…._

Well, minus a few _very_ important nuts.

It's a little odd to be the only one who isn't wearing underwear at this point… ( _actualllllly_ … I am not totally sure I can say that for Big Booty J. One spring, when we were all hanging out at school, a gust of wind blew her skirt right up, a la Marilyn Monroe style, and the whole courtyard got an eyeful. It was the scandal of the year. But enough about Jessica's tendency to forego undergarments...)

"Hey, you guys just get here? Mike asks everyone.

"I guess _I've_ been here a while," I joke, because clearly he wasn't talking to me. They don't acknowledge my joke. They shouldn't, though. It wasn't a funny one. At least Jess gives me a pity laugh.

"Nah, we're actually heading out," Matt checks his watch.

"What? Already? What could be more important than hanging out with your insane, apparently suicidal friend?" I say. Matt then turns back to me. Crickets again. Tough crowd. I guess they just don't really get my dark humor. Their loss.

"Just stopped by to make sure you were okay," Matt says. He gives me another high-five, pulled down into a hug where he whispers a very sarcastic, "Oh, and thanks _a lot_ for getting her that stupid purse, by the way. Do you know how many weird looks I get when we're in public now?" I stifle a laugh. I don't wanna give him away; Emily would surely be upset Matt felt that way, but an image of him being forced to hold it in a boutique while she tries on clothes is the funniest thing in the damn world to me.

I get a meek wave from Emily, then they begin out the door when we hear frantic squeaking against the linoleum and a flash of green run by, almost mowing them down.

"Hey, _watch_ it!" Emily snaps. We all eye each other curiously until the figure backtracks, and then we see that it's Chris, sweaty and out of breath. The relieved, ecstatic look on his face must be why some people think we're totally gay for each other. Which would have been convenient, but _nah._

Chris looks like he has a million things he wants to say and no idea where to start, so instead he hiccups out a quick, "hey."

" _Yooooo._ " I wave at him in one grand motion, and he walks directly over to me and gives me a hug that is far too tight for my aching ribs. "Ouch!" I hiss. " _Easy_."

"Aw, look, Josh! Your _boyfriend's_ here," Jess teases, hugging on tightly to Mike's waist. "What do you think, guy? Should we give them some alooone time?"

"Psh… he's not my… _boyfriend_ ," Chris says embarrassedly, his hand finding the back of his neck and rubbing. Ashley snorts from behind her pages of her book she's re-nestled with and rolls her eyes. "What's so funny?" Chris challenges. Ashley sets the book back down on her lap.

"It's _okay_ , Chris. You can just admit it. I've already faced the facts that if Josh had been born a girl you two would be married by now," she jokes, and Mike and Jess suppress their laughter. I feel my eyebrows crease.

"Why do I have to be the girl?" I grumble, pouting. _How rude._ Jess leaps forward, pinching onto my cheek.

"Cuz your skin is so smooth and you're _oh-so-pretty_ ," she coos, and I swat her hand away from my face. She smells like a Bath and Body Works.

"How dare you objectify me," I spout off with mock indigence. Her hands find her hips and her eyebrows raise, amusedly.

"Coming from the guy who called me, let's see… _what was it_?" she taps her chin in contemplation. "Big Booty J?"

"Big Booty _what?_ " Mike snips, hotly. _Simmer down, buddy._ The only booty I'm remotely interested in isn't here, but is probably in some form of yoga pants.

"What! How did you know that? Did Sam tell you that? Because she's a filthy little liar-" Jessica cocks her brow, pulling out one of those damn letters again.

"You called me that like 7 times in your letter," she tells me, flatly. I fall back into my pillows, groaning.

"Fuck, did all of you guys end up with those things?" I lament. It's mortifying, especially not even being able to remember what I said to each of them. Mike takes a step towards me, all macho and menacing… Like a dad about to give a pep talk to his son after he lost the game. It's nice to see he cares.

"Josh… _dude_. We're here for you. How could you have not known we were all _here_ for you?" Mike asks me, "Hell, when I was at rock bottom you guys showed up and forced me to get better. We would have done the same for you, you're never alone." I decide it's not even worth it to try to convince them I wasn't trying to kill myself; that in my drunken, insane, pilled-up stupor I just lost any sense of reality I had left.

That it was an _accident._ All I can do now is try to ease their fears and offer some kind of reassurance, even if I only partially believe myself.

"Guys… C'mon. It's fine, I'm gonna be okay from now on, I promise. If I ever feel myself going a little nutty, I will tell someone. I swear." I am a little relieved that no one even gets a chance to talk about it any further before Jessica cuts in.

"We got you a present!" she blurts excitedly, as if she's just been waiting for the right moment to bring it up but got too impatient. I notice the rectangular, flat gift in her hands. She brings it over to me and helps me open it as though I am partially paralyzed now or something.

It's a framed photo - and it kinda steals my breath.

It's the group photo we got at the lodge the night before Hannah and Beth went missing. So much is going on in the picture it's almost like a Where's Waldo page:

Of course there's me, slumped on the couch with half-eyes, a little tipsy. The cup in my hand looks like it's about to spill over on Hannah's lap, beside me. She's trying to give bunny ears to Chris, who is side-glancing Ashley, who is smiling sweetly into the camera.

Matt's, of course, playfully flexing under all of his layers of clothes behind the couch while Beth has taken it upon herself to sprawl longways across all of our laps. Jess is on the floor, posing like a supermodel while Mike sits in the chair by the couch, Emily on his lap. Sam sits beside me, her hand resting on her shoulder as she balances on the arm of the couch, my arm around her to keep her from falling backwards.

I've never seen this pic before. It brings back so many memories, all at once.

"You don't like it," Jess says dejectedly when I don't say anything right away. My eyes flicker up to hers.

I set it on the table beside me, "I love it." Her smile returns, and all is well in Jess' world again.

There's a knock on the door frame, and I realize that I underestimated _just_ how happy I was going to be to see Sam, especially now that she's standing there. Words can't compare. My smile must reach my ears.

Ashley looks between the two of us, maybe thinking we need a little time alone (she's clever, remember?), so she suggests they all go down to the cafeteria for a bit, and they all agree without hesitation. It's almost embarrassing how obvious they all are.

I overhear Jessica telling Ash that she has make up streamed down her face on the way out, and I try my best to hold back a chuckle. They all disappear out the door, leaving just me, Sam, and the still-constant beep of the heart monitor reminding me that I am alive… and because I am an idiot, I almost wasn't.

"I thought maybe you'd be a _little bit_ hungry…" Sam holds up a very familiar brown paper bag with _Jose's Taqueria_ on the front. My eyes must grow three times their size because she giggles at me.

"If that isn't a deluxe bacon and chorizo breakfast burrito with extra cheese on it, we're _through_ ," I warn her. And to be honest, I'm dead serious.

_Don't toy with my emotions, Samantha._

She nods smugly, quite proud of herself.

"One giant, flour-tortilla-wrapped pig slaughtered in not one but _two_ different ways alongside scrambled chicken fetuses and cow's milk stolen from the calfs and aged into cheese," she crudely describes. "Sounds awful…"

"Sounds _delicious_ ," I correct, reaching for the bag. After a few moments of hovering it just out of my grasp, she gives it to me and I tear into it like a lion devouring a zebra. She fishes out a few plastic packets from her jeans pocket and tosses them to me.

"Oh, and your chemically engineered ' _hotsauce_ …' if you can even call it that."

I could cry.

_Oh, Breakfast Burrito. We meet again._

_JW + BB = 4Ever. Never to be parted again._

She plops down onto the end of the bed, kicking her feet and leaning back casually.

"You good?" she giggles when she notices that I'm already like three bites in. I can only nod in response. She nods back, "Good, good. So uh… about that whole tryin' to kill yourself thing-" she starts in. It ALMOST makes me lose my appet- _Oh, who am I kidding?_ I'm not even gonna finish that sentence because we all know it's a lie. I'm going to make sweet love to this burrito like a sailor on leave.

Still, through a mouthful, I solemnly declare, "I wasn't trying to _kill_ myself." She's laying on her side straight across the end of my bed now, propped up on her elbow. Makin' herself at home as usual.

"No one takes 27 Klonopin just to take the edge off, Josh," she tells me, her voice low and raspy. She closes her eyes and shakes some unknown thoughts away, her fingertips pressing between her eyes. I watch her, chewing slowly, unsure of what's going to happen next. When her eyes open back up, they're full of tears. "I never want to see anything like that again. I thought-" she stops, her voice breathy and waverly as she tries to keep herself from falling apart.

She smiles through the tears and the smile is stretched out and way too big to be real, she almost looks insane. Maybe I've pushed her over the edge. Or she's trying to keep from crying so hard it's actually painful.

"I thought you were gonna die," she laughs without humor. "And it was like waiting for them to pull out outta the mines, or watching you get ripped in half all over again." Her face shifts, contorts. She's can't hold back anymore. She unravels, and now she's crying. She hides behind her hands so I can't see her but it's too late - the damage has been done.

"Sam," I say, trying to get her to look at me, but she buries her face into my white, scratchy blankets of my hospital bed. Then, I do something I've never done for anyone in my life: I put down my burrito.

I know. I know. _Crazy._ But Sam needs me.

I set the burrito on the table next to my water and sit up, straining to reach for her while her shoulders shake in sobs, but she's just out of my grasp.

"Sam!" I try again with more gumpf, just trying to get her calm down. That burrito must have given me super-strength (not unlike Popeye with his Spinach but FUCK spinach, am I right?) and I'm able to reach her, tugging on her red, fitted-flannel shirt to get her to move. She rolls over on her back dramatically, the tears still flowing freely. I've… honestly never seen her like this. So vulnerable. So _open. She's a mess._

I scootch down on the bed, leaning over her. I hold her head in my hands and press a kiss into her forehead. She looks up at me, and the tears have done miraculous, kaleidoscope-y things to her eyes.

"Sammy, I'm here. I'm not dead." My thumb comfortingly grazes against her cheek. "It's okay."

"You puked on me at your house," she says, and it's honestly the last thing I imagined she'd say. She sits up and I return to my pillows, waiting for her to continue. She sniffs, wiping away her snotty nose and looking back at me.

"Uh… sorry… 'bout that-" I begin, because I assume she's mad I puked on her during my 'rescue', but she just laughs.

"I was so happy, so relieved." Man, I've never seen someone so happy about vomit before. Let's just say my lady is easy to please. "It meant your body was trying to get rid of all the toxic shit you ingested."

Sam takes it upon herself to crawl up my bed lying snug beside me and gripping onto me like she might never see me again as she continues to cry into my super-fashionable hospital gown. I hate that I ever hurt her. God, she really is the best and worst (but definitely the best) thing that has ever happened to me.

I kiss the top of her golden head as she takes my hand in hers, tracing her finger down my lifeline. It's longer than I expected.

"Sam, I swear… I never wanted to kill myself. I don't know what I was thinking, but I di-"

"Then why did you write all those suicide letters?" she presses, looking up at me through her wet lashes. I open my mouth to answer her, but then I realize I don't have an answer. I didn't know they were suicide letters when I wrote them, at least, not consciously.

Wait, can you accidentally write a suicide note?

"Honestly... I don't even know what they said."

"Different variations of goodbye, I guess… Something in Emily's about regretting not cutting her in half..." I… _might_ remember that one. I can't help but ask her,

"What did _yours_ say?" She sniffles. Shrugs.

"I dunno," she utters. It sounds like she has a stuffy nose from all the crying. "You didn't write me one."

My stomach sinks and my mouth drops open, as if I could even begin to figure out how to explain myself on that one. If _anyone_ deserved an explanation, if anyone deserved a goodbye, it was Samantha.

_I love her._

_I LOVE her._

_And yet she's the one person who has yet to get a real apology. Why am I such a moron?_

"I um… I can't stay long today," she tells me, tracing a geometric line on the pattern of my hospital gown. "I gotta get to orientation tomorrow but… after I get some packing done I can come visit you before I leave," she assures me. "I'm just… I'm so glad you woke up before I had to go," her voice cracks.

College. Right. _That's_ still happening.

She rests her hand on my cheek and it feels so heavy against me. Our noses are touching, so she tilts her chin up and kisses me softly as my hand closes around her wrist. I don't want her to go… I _don't_ want her to go.

 _My_ eyes well with tears now. I'm not gonna stop her. It's gonna be okay. I'll still see her. I know now. I know what I've never been certain of before: Sam loves me. She might have never said it to me, but words don't matter - actions do. I know just by everything she's ever done for me.

"I'll visit, Josh. I promise," Sam adds when I hadn't responded to her. I just pull her even tighter to me, my heart feeling suddenly so full it might burst of my chest… like in the Alien movies. Gore everywhere. (I always take it there, don't I?)

The kiss before was fine, but now I tilt her chin up towards me, and I give her one of those kisses you see in movies because damnit, she deserves it. It's soft and sweet but also intense, because I don't know how else to thank her. I don't know how else to tell her she means _everything_ to me.

I owe _everything_ to this woman.

I guess I could try _words_ but-

Instead, we just lay there in silence for a while, just being together. I don't know when we'll ever get time like thing again, and for once, we just… are. No talking to jesting or anything.

It lasts a little while, but it can't last forever. Sam gets up (which is regrettably a relief because her knee was kinda tugging on my catheter and I didn't have the heart to tell her), leans down and kisses me again, quickly. She wipes away some tears, then says, "oh!"

She digs into her bag, pulling out my iPod and headphones, handing them to me.

"I um… I know how much you listen to music sometimes, when I would visit you the last few days, I'd bring it for you… you know. I kinda hoped the music would bring you back to us," she admits, blushing a bit. It's adorable. She pulls the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder as I run my thumb across the screen of my iPod. "And I added a song on there for you," she smiles, her eyes shining. "I'm sure you'll find it."

Ash and Chris come back in, catching us at the tail end of our moment.

"Oh, do you have to go already?" Ashley asks disappointedly. Sam nods sadly, and I can see how much it hurts her to have to leave. She pulls Ash in for a brief hug, then pauses in the doorway and offers me one last longing glance.

So much goes unsaid. Story of our lives. Until next time, Sammy.

And because there's nothing I can do about it, nothing that won't hold her back, at least...I watch her silently as she leaves. And it hurts like a son of a bitch. But it doesn't send me into a tailspin, so I guess that's good.

"You're just gonna let her go?" Ashley breathes, her arms falling to her sides disappointedly. If she had it her way, I'd run after Sam like the end of a romantic novel and we'd live happily ever after, my IV trailing behind me. Oh, if only real life were ever that simple.

_It can be that simple, stupid._

"What am I supposed to do, beg her to stay?" I snap, sitting up. I run my hand through my hair, suddenly slightly irritated with myself. "She needs to go to school, she needs to go live her life. I can't keep her here-"

"You know, if you asked her to stay, Josh, I'm sure she would," Chris says comfortingly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"That's the whole point. I don't want her to stay behind for me. I want her to do what she needs to do and be happy. Who _knows_ how long I'm gonna be stuck here now. Or if I'm ever going to be completely well. And let's be honest, I'm probably gonna end up in prison for breaking my court order…" I slid back into my pillows, wishing so badly that I didn't sound like such a whiney little brat. But it's true! I haven't even begun to process what is going to happen to me now.

Ashley comes forward, sitting on the end of my bed again.

"Did you at least tell her how you feel?" My eyes flicker to her, then back to some random tile on the hospital floor. I roll my shoulders.

"I didn't have to. She knows how I feel," I mutter. Ashley glances over her shoulder at Chris.

"Oy vey, were _we_ this annoying?" she asks him, and he just smiles back at her amusedly.

"Probably."

"It's not the same with Sam and I-"

"It really isn't, Josh…" Ashley smirks. Chris comes in farther, plopping into the chair beside my bed.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you guys annoy everyone just as much as Ash and I did…" he laughs. "But I can assure you, you're gonna feel so much better if you tell her how you feel. At least then you'll know." I scoff. "Don't make me teach you that the same way you taught me," he murmurs sarcastically. I let it glide over me - I'm due for jibes like that for the rest of my life and I'm perfectly okay with that. They're hilarious.

"Oh yeah? How am I supposed to tell her I love her when I haven't even apologized?" I quip. Ashley's face falls, and Chris scrunches his in disapproval.

"You… you still haven't _apologized_ to Sam?" Ashley tsks and drops her forehead in her hands. "Damnit, Josh! Why _not?_ " Chris nods in agreement with Ashley.

"Yeah, man… kinda thought she'd be the first person you'd apologize to…"

I don't have an answer for them.

Maybe it's because every time I've wanted to apologize, it seems so minute compared to what she deserves. There's no way I could ever apologize to her in a way that makes up for all the shithead things I've done to her.

 _Worse…_ I am pretty sure even if I did apologize, I don't deserve her forgiveness.

She spent every moment I asked for her with me after my sisters disappeared. She tried to intercept the prank in the first place. She convinced everyone to come up to the lodge just to support me. Even after everything I did, she still told the rangers where I was and even though it was hard on her and her healing, she still did everything in her power to help me right all of the wrongs in my life these last few weeks.

And I'd never even uttered a simple, "I'm sorry" in her direction.

I deserve nothing.

"You just need some help is all," Ashley suddenly chirps, brightly. "I mean, you're Joshua Washington… you don't ever do anything small. We just need to help you plan a grand gesture to apologize to her!" There she goes with those romanticized ideas again… but all that said, she has a point.

"Ash, maybe we should stay out of thi-" Chris tries, havin' my back, but Ashley is pulling a notebook from her bag and opening to a fresh page. She taps the pen to her bottom lip in thought.

"What is Sam's favorite flower…" she muses. Chris and I just chuckle quietly, and we are (Thankfully) interrupted by a light knock on the door.

_Mom._

"Hi guys… could I have some time alone with Josh, please?" She smiles at me and her eyes are already teary, so I know I'm in for an emotional chat.

Ashley shuts her notebook, taking two fingers and pointing from my eyes to hers.

"This isn't over," she whispers, and I'm not sure if that's a promise or a threat.

Chris and Ash leave, deserting me in the thick, poignant silence (save for that dang heart monitor). Mom's heels click on the tiled floor as she makes her way in, sitting beside me on my bed. She wraps her arm around me, bringing the top of my head to her and giving me a kiss. She grips onto me tighter and I hear a sob erupt from her chest.

"I'm alright, mom," I say so quietly she almost doesn't hear me.

"I love you," she cries, pulling away from me. She takes a hand and places it on each side of my head, firmly. "Don't you ever do something stupid like that again," she demands through gritted teeth, but she's just so happy I'm okay she brings me to her and weeps a little longer.

I hug her, rubbing her back comfortingly as I am silently wishing I wasn't the cause of her pain, and deciding then and there that I will never be again.

When she calms and takes a deep breath, she reaches over me for the tissue box on the table beside me, dabbing her eyes. I notice her balled up fist on her lap. She sniffs, opening it to reveal my dad's gold wedding ring.

"I'm flattered mom, but I don't think it's legal to marry your mom…" I deadpan, and she smacks me on the chest, rolling her eyes.

"Oh knock that off, you're just like your father," she chortles. There's no hesitation bringing him up. And it feels nice to hear her talk about him. She hands the ring to me. I roll it in my fingers. Of course when I slip it on it's a perfect fit - I have my dad's hands, remember? "Obviously you don't need to wear it now. He just always said he wanted you to have it. Among other things, of course…"

I'm barely paying attention now as I think about the fact that I just received my first heirloom, and how much I already miss him.

But I have this piece of him; I'm not gonna actually wear it on my ring finger - that's the kinda stuff that just makes Sigmund Freud's theories come to life. But it looks pretty good on my right middle finger. It'll add some pizazz when I'm flipping people off for Sam while she's driving.

"Josh?" she asks, and I absently ' _hmm'_ back to her in response as I continue to study the ring. Mom pauses for a moment, watching my face intently, before she continues. "Your father also wanted you to have his seat on the board of directors for the studio."

"What?" I ask, far louder and higher than I planned. This get me to practically jump out of bed. She put her hands up to calm me, but only because she assumes I'm gonna freak out… but new meds have me pretty relaxed.

"Of course, the other board members will run it until you finish film school and do your first few projects but… He always knew you were special and always dreamed of working with you one day. He always said you'd make a fantastic director."

As happy as that makes me, I can't help but cry. It's true what they say, that you don't know what you've got til it's gone. I pull her in for another hug.

"I'm so sorry, mom. It's just been so hard since Hannah and Beth-"

"I know," she shushes me, patting down my hair in the way only a mother could. "It's gonna get better, Josh. I promise." And I believe her. Because really, I'm not sure how it could possibly get any worse? "You just… you gotta hold on." Her voice cracks, her eyes are full of tears as she brings my hand up and kisses the back of it. It's been a long time since my mom has shown me this kind of affection - no, it's been a long time since I've let her. "You're kinda all I have left."

She's right.

"Mom?" I mumble into her shoulder. "I wanna go home."

My mom kisses my forehead before she gets up and tells me she's going to go talk to my doctor about my release, get a discharge nurse in here to make sure I can go. When she leaves I wipe my eyes and finally fill my lungs (albeit, still painfully from the fractured rib).

I'm about to maybe get back to that burrito that's been sittin' there all cold and neglected, but instead my eyes lock onto my iPod. I remember what Sam said about putting a song on there, and for some reason the curiosity overrides my hunger (I know, crazy, right?)

I put in my earbuds and start scrolling the contents of my iPod, looking for anything that might stand out. After a few scrolls I find a playlist simply titled, "Sam". It only has one song on it: I Found by Amber Run. I've never heard it before so I push play, and even after the first few second I know I am not going to be disappointed. There's something about it that feels like Sam is squeezing onto my heart like a stress ball.

_And I moved farther than I thought I could, but I miss you more than I thought I would_

_And I'll use you as a warning sign, that if you talk enough sense then you lose your mind_

_Oh, And I love where it wasn't supposed to be: right in front of me, talk some sense to me_

_And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be: right in front of me, talk some sense to me._

I'm gonna get better.

I'm gonna do it for my mom.

I'm gonna get the help I need. I'm gonna get my life back on track - my mom's right. I'm all she has left, and I will spend the rest of my time here on Earth being a son she can be proud of.

I'm gonna do it for Sam.

I _love_ her. I think I always knew have. I never got one more chance to tell my dad how I felt about him, that I loved him. And I will spend the rest of my life regretting that. I don't want the same thing to happen with Sam - if there's one thing I've learned on this crazy journey called life, it's that no one is promised tomorrow.

I've been taught that the hard way, more times than I can count now.

I'm suddenly so excited to get out of this hospital and get better. I have so much to live for, and I'm gonna do it for them.

I look on the bedside at the framed picture of all of us on my table beside my hospital bed: 10 smiling, carefree faces smile back happily at me. 10 friends who had gone to hell and back together, even if we didn't all make it out alive.

They all make life worth living.

I'm gonna do it for _all_ for all of them.

_And now,_ _ finally.. _ _. back to my burrito._

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

  


_And now,_ _finally.._ _. back to my burrito._

 

* * *

 

_To Be Continued..._


	17. Warmest Part of the Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter Up now.  
> Man, I'm gonna miss you guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Heeeere we are. Sorry it took so long, I had a lot going on at the end of summer with my wedding and all.
> 
> Never thought we'd get here, but alas. This tale must come to an end. As you probably know, each of these chapters are named after a song. If you didn't listen to any of them, then I highly suggest you listen to this one. Because it's amazing.
> 
> Also. Question - did any of you have a favorite song from the fic? Maybe introduced to one or two you'd never heard before? I am curious to know if any became a regular listen on your spotify playlist (BTW all these songs are on my spotify playlist of the same title). Cheers!
> 
> *Considering* two prequels… don't quote me on that. One would be before the twins go missing and after. But honestly… I just don't know quite yet. This fandom has kinda died out, ya know?

**Chapter 16:**

_Warmest Part of the Winter_

_aka_

_My kinda-sorta Epilogue_

_aka_

_It Takes Getting Everything You Ever Wanted and Losing it to Know What True Freedom Feels Like_

_aka_

_That One Time I Put The Broken, Shattered Pieces Of My Life Back Together_

_aka_

_Everyone Deserves A Happy Ending_

_aka_

_...Even Psychopaths Like Me_

* * *

_**October - Three Months Later** _

Dr. Finke looks pleased after I tell him that most of my side effects to my new meds have subsided. It was a rough transition at first. It's why I haven't been around much, haven't been too talkative. But now that they've leveled out, I'm almost even comfortable as I sit there in my therapy session (other than the fact that it's still cold as shit in here).

Oh yeah.

And it's also my _last_ therapy session.

Finke really went to bat for me, to say the least. He visited me in the hospital and we talked. A lot. About everything. About nothing. But more importantly, I told him the _truth_ for once.

I told him about the creatures and my sisters. I told him about the hallucinations and the voices and the how I _wasn't_ trying to kill myself. Once we talked about that part, I began to realize: I might not have been trying to kill myself consciously, but there definitely _was_ a part of myself I was trying to destroy that night.

Wow, I honestly can't even believe it's been _three whole months_ since that night - it went by so fast.

I sit in the same old, familiar chair and listen to Finke tell me about his grand-daughter's Frozen-themed birthday party this last weekend (turns out he's actually a pretty cool dude, when I finally take the time to listen to him. You miss out on a lot when you're the one doing all the talking - he says I still suffer from slight narcissistic personality disorder, but I think he's just jealous so I let that one go in one ear and right out the other).

Either way, I realize just how lucky I am to have him as a doctor.

Sure, he's not too stylish and he's a little hard to read and… well, honestly, I'm _never_ going to totally understand why he asked me about my jerking off habits that one time… but he's a good doctor, on the most part. He told my case worker about what happened - told them that too much was taken from me at once and that with the passing of my dad, the social isolation aspect of my punishment should be lifted.

Of course, she laughed in his face.

I'm still crazy, ya know?

That's just always gonna be a part of me and I'll have to get used to that. It's not so much about alleviating the crazy so much as accepting it - although, some of my crazy really did need need to go. Pills help… at least, the _right_ pills help.

Anyways, I wasn't getting anywhere with my caseworker until, simply because I _asked_ them to, Em, Chris, Ashley, Mike, Matt, Sam and Jess all wrote letters to the judge. _That_ sealed the deal, and I was allowed to actually see them in person… _legally_.

"How are you liking group therapy?" Finke asks me.

"It blows," I hum; I might be medicated, but I still have shitty manners. I give him a shrug and even a bit of a smile when he chuckles at my reaction. It's a lot lighter between us now. "But I mean… It can be cool sometimes, I guess. Ash has been a big help. And I went with Mike to AA last week." Finke raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, you decided to do that on your own?"

"I'm keeping busy," I reply shortly. He knows why I am clamming up, so he takes his glasses off and sits forward on his desk. I know what's coming next and it makes my stomach churn - it _always_ does. And I am still not totally decided if it is a good feeling or a bad feeling.

"Have you talked to Sam?" he asks me. I fold in my lips and nod.

It's still tough to talk about her. It's actually painful how much I miss her, sometimes. Stupid Sam, embedding herself in my life. I almost hugged a random blonde chick on the street the other day because she looked like her. The red hoodie didn't help the situation.

"Yeah. Yesterday." I talk to Sam almost _every_ day. Sometimes she's busy, so we carry on via text (I'm allowed to have a phone again, so that's made the three and a half hour distance between us easier to bear).

Sometimes we skype. I'm still trying to get her to show me some boobies, but so far it's been a no-go. I did get a quick flash of a lacy, black bra when she was a little bit tipsy once, but that is about it.

"How's she doing? Is she enjoying school?"

"She's good. Hitting finals here soon, so she's been studying like crazy."

"When will you get to see her next?" he pushes. I am realizing pretty quickly that he ships us, and it's a little awkward talking to him about all this. It's also awkward that I know what ' _ships'_ means, but Hannah was ever the fangirl in her day.

"She'll be home in a few days, actually." He jots something down on his notepad - I'll never get used to that aspect of therapy, being studied. It will always make me feel a little uneasy… but Finke and I have come a long way. I remember back when every answer I gave him was dripping with sarcasm or malice. Man, I sure grew up in the last few months.

"How are your plans coming along in regards to your apology to Sam?" I was hoping he'd ask.

"Pretty fuckin' fantastic if you ask me," I say, excitedly banging my fists on the arms of my chair.

Ashley was right - I'm Josh Washington.

I never do anything small - always grand and elaborate. So, for the last three months, she and Chris have been helping me with my apology to Sam. (Ya know, if I had them help me with my revenge prank in the first place, it would have taken me half the time. Who knew…)

_I kid, I kid._

But really, I've been keeping Finke in the loop with everything so he can make sure I'm not… Oh, I dunno... doing anything _illegal_ or something. It's still a gray area for me. Initially I had suggested the idea of Chris and Ashley kidnapping her so I could save her - they vehemently denied that one. In retrospect she probably wouldn't have liked that. Not after _last_ time.

Either way, Fink has given me the green light on my master plan so far, so I'm pretty stoked that it's finally approaching.

So is the end of my time with Dr. Finke.

He checks his clock behind me, gives a little sigh before he leans back in his chair.

"Well, Joshua… I think we've really made some progress, don't you?" I feel a tight, half-smirk on my face. I've always been shit with goodbyes.

"Yeah. Only took me like… 8 months, right? I catch on _real_ fast." He waves off my nonchalance.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. Some people take 8 _years_. You've come a long way." I nod, acknowledging the compliment, but still (and probably forever) unable to actually take it.

"I still have a ways to go…" He leans forward, his elbows on his desk and his hands clasped together as he says,

"You're going to make a fine psychologist one day."

Oh, that's right. I forgot to mention.

I start school with Sam in a month. I'm going back to school and getting back to my masters in psychology. Sure, I could just run my dad's business, and I still want to minor in film and take some fun screenwriting classes because that will always be my _passion_ … but if I could just help kids like me one day, somehow… I don't know. I feel like it would give me a little more worth. And now that I feel like living again, I wanna do _it all._

His eyes shift back to the clock once more.

"I'm proud of all you've accomplished. And just because your probation is over and you've fulfilled your required therapy hours doesn't mean I can't still be your doctor. You can come see me anytime."

Something about him telling me that lifts the weight off my shoulders and it affects me physically. I sit up a little straighter; it's a safety net. It's always there if I need it. The very notion of it offers me comfort because as excited as I am to get back out there and fill that Josh-shaped-hole in the world… I'm fuckin' terrified. But in the most wonderful way.

But no, hearing that Dr. Finke is still my mental wingman makes me feel just a little bit better. I'll let people around me know when I am slipping from now on. I realize now that I don't have to go it alone.

"Thanks Finke," I say, standing up and offering him a high-five. Not sure he was expecting it because he awkwardly tries to catch it but mostly fails and it becomes an incredibly weird handshake. We'll just pretend that didn't happen. There's honestly nothing more awkward that that.

But here we are now. I can have a phone again, my facebook is reactivated (still don't know how to use the damn thing… accidentally wrote what _should have been_ a private message on Sam's wall… _thrice_.) And my probation is overrrr - I couldn't very well fuck up while I was hospitalized for those couple weeks...

I'm better now.

I know it now. I can _feel it_. Things are going to be different this time around.

And I haven't seen or talked to my dead sisters since the night I almost offed myself, so that's a plus.

Fink walks me to the door this time, and it's bittersweet. I know the offer stands, but I really do wonder if I'll see him again. More like… will I ever _need_ him again?

"Really though… thank you. For everything. I owe you so-"

"Nothing. You _owe_ me nothing," he assures me, then adds wryly, slapping me on the back, "But your insurance company owes me around $300 an hour." I chuckle despite myself.

" _Good_ one," I patronize because, _eh_ , it was an alright joke. Ya can't blame a guy for trying.

But now I'm deeply bothered that a man makin' that kinda money drives a 2010 Ford Focus with a minor side dent and wears the same suit every day.

_Splurge a little, Finke. For goodness sakes._

* * *

I am standing the cold, wet parking lot of the local cinema, watching my breath dance clouds of white, puffy circles in the air... and yet, my palms are _actually_ sweaty.

And as soon as I think that, Eminem lyrics fill my brain: _Palms are sweaty. Knees weak. Arms are heavy. There's vomit on his sweater already. Mom's spaghetti._

This thought alone makes me realize I skipped lunch today and my stomach grumbles. But I guess the sentiment is the same, you know?

_One chance… one shot._

Oh, who am I kidding? Sammy's given me like, _oh idk_ , 146 chances already and she _still_ agrees to meet up with me whenever she's in town.

Tonight's the night though, and I have no idea how it's gonna go over - _My apology._

Sure, it's taken some time and I had to pull some strings, but I think that I might have actually pieced together an apology grand enough to make it up to Sam - although, I'm perfectly happy spending the rest of my life making it up to her… so long as she'll let me hang around her forever.

Ashley approaches me in the dark parking lot, her hands stuffed in her pockets and her nose pink from the cold. Over her scarf I can see her smirk at me, her eyes shining mischievously.

"You ready for this?" she asks, and I can only nod vacantly and hum back a quick, nervous, 'yeah.' I stare beyond her to see Chris coming up behind, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. His hand instinctively find hers, their fingers interlacing. I might have really messed them up that night, but _man_ , I can't help but feel responsible for this current PDA.

"Is it done?" I ask him. He pushes his black-framed glasses up his nose.

"I dunno, is Tony Stark richer than Bruce Wayne?" he snorts in response, but Ashley and I just kinda stare at him because we try _really_ hard not to encourage him when he says things that are extra geeky. He clears his throat, shifting on his feet a bit, "uh, yeah. The answer is yes," he clarifies. "I only spent the last 14 hours straight editing. No big deal…"

"Alllllrighty then! Let's get this show on the road," Ashley says waaayyy too excitedly but I appreciate the enthusiasm. I go to follow them in when they walk by me, but I can't seem to move my feet. Ashley notices and glances back at me, laughing a bit. "Oh, c'mon. It's gonna be great!" she encourages. "You worked so hard on this. She's gonna love it."

It's not that - I'm sure she will. It's just kinda crazy to me how much has happened in the last eight months and… I dunno I guess I'm feeling a little grateful for my friends, right now. It's beginning to hit me that I even still _have_ friends. No thanks to me, I might add.

I owe so much to that girl, it's insane.

But also… it all just feels so _final_. Like, a huge chapter of my story is coming to an end and… then what? Chris and Ash are getting ready for the move to the east coast for Chris' scholarship. I wrapped up my last therapy session and now I have to see the admissions counselor at the college next week… everything is changing.

We go inside because we really can't waste any more time, and I don't really want Sam to see me before her surprise. Chris leads the way, asking the usher who is supposed to take our tickets if Brad is there, and he points towards an employee door.

Chris walks us over there and knocks a few times on the big, red door and a scruffy kid who isn't much older than us answers. His nametag says 'Brad,' so I assume he's our guy. Chris greets him with a 'hey man' and a high five. We do a quick introduction and the way Brad is looking around makes this feel kinda sketchy, but I suppose it's just because he's probably not supposed to be letting us do this.

"Thanks again, man," I say to him, but he just stares at me. Right. I owe him $200 bucks. I reach into my pocket and hand him the wad of green, which he briefly counts before he shoves it into his pocket as though we just did a drug deal. He turns and leads us up a set of stairs before unlocking one of the projector rooms, wordlessly letting us in.

"I'm gonna go down there and wait for Sam," Ashley tells us. She leans in and gives me a quick hug. "Good luck!" she says, leaving us alone with Brad.

"Uh, just put the movie on after you're done," he instructs us, stands there awkwardly for a moment, then walks out. I turn to Chris, my thumb jutted out where Brad had just been.

"Seriously… how do you know that guy?"

"D&D…" Chris admits, slightly embarrassed. He should be way more embarrassed, though.

Either way, that explains a lot about Brad being a weirdo. I know, I know. I'm kind of the kettle calling the pot black, but c'mon. Brad is definitely going to be on the news one day for having someone tied up in his basement. It takes a crazy to know one.

Doesn't matter, though. Brad did us a solid. We had to go to this theatre because it's the only one in town that never switched to digital projection. Although, a USB would have been much simpler than a full reel.

Chris kneels down, taking the edited reel out of his backpack and I feel my stomach swirl.

I don't really know why I am so nervous about this. Sam and I have been fine; more than fine. Like, we're 'second-base fine' at this point. I don't even think she expects an apology anymore, especially something like this.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Sam. The nervousness intensifies to an uncomfortable simmer under my cheekbones.

 _ **Sammy:**_ _I'm here [7:39 pm]_

I hurry over to the small, open window in the wall and stare down into the theater. People are already sitting, and sure enough, Ashley and Sam are finding our seats. It only seems to make me that much more apprehensive, actually seeing her.

"You okay over there?" Chris asks me, fiddling with the projector. I'm glad he took it upon himself to set it up. I mean, I could have, but my hands are shaking so much it would have taken an eternity. "You're breathing really heavy. You sound like my grandpa eating spicy Indian food…"

That was a funny one - Chris' grandpa both looks and sounds like a bulldog. But still, my mind won't let me loosen up, especially when my phone buzzes again.

 _**Sammy:** _ _typical, Washington_ _**.** _ _where r u? [7:44 pm]_

 _**Sammy:** _ _the movie is about to start and ur late! [7:45 pm]_

I can see the glow of her cell phone click off as she tucks it away politely, awaiting my response. She turns to Ashley and says something, I can see her scrunch her nose and laugh at whatever it was - more than likely laughing at her own stupid joke about how I'm always late or something.

She's so damn cute I could puke.

I feel Chris slap me on the back, and when I look at him he's putting his backpack on again, having just finished loading the reel.

"Alright, man. I'm gonna head down. You sure you don't want to watch it down there with us?" he asks me, but I just shake my head. I'm too nervous/embarrassed to watch it sitting right next to her. Hell, I don't even know if I'm gonna be able to watch the whole thing from up _here_.

"Nah just… just send me a warning text if she hates it," I barter, and he just smirks back at me knowingly.

"You know she's gonna love it." He tells me he'll see me later and I suck in a sharp breath, glancing down at my watch.

7:50 pm.

_Showtime._

I go to simply dim the theatre lights but the switch is finicky and they all just turn off at once. Smooth. I then click on the projector, the faint ticking sound filling the small, gray room.

I exhale and close my eyes at the sound of my sister's voice - Beth.

It's not a hallucination. It's a recording that fills up the giant movie screen.

"Is this thing on?" she says from behind the camera as a fuzzy Sam and Hannah come into focus. They don't even realize the camera is on them until they look over at her. Sam smiles a giant, cheesy grin while Hannah shys away. The two of them are in our old kitchen. They are decorating cupcakes, their giant mess scattered all along the counter.

"Turn it _oooooofffff_! I look horrible!" Hannah whines, hiding her face behind her hands and scurrying out of view, leaving poor Sam alone with her bag of frosting.

"Oh, now I have to do this all by myself? Thanks a _lot_ ," Sam quips sarcastically, shaking her head and refocusing on the rows of cupcakes.

"What's cookin' Sammy?" Beth asks her. She cocks an eyebrow deviously.

"Stupid cupcakes for your stupid brother's birthday…" she tells her.

Suddenly, there's a loud yell (me) and what sounds like a war cry (Chris) and the girls are being doused with multiple water balloons. Beth is giggling from behind the camera - she was in on it the whole time. Hannah and Sam and shouting at us angrily, and as soon as we came we run away. The camera is shaking with Beth's laughter, but zooms in on a very red faced, very wet Sam and her ruined cupcakes.

"Joshua!" she screams shrilly after us, pushing away her wet hair that has stuck itself to her face. Regardless of her frustration, she laughs, then picks up the ruined tray of cupcakes and empties them into the garbage. " _Such_ a _jerk_ ," she hisses under her breath as they fall into the wastebin with soggy _thumps_.

"Still wanna marry into the family?" Beth asks her, teasingly from offscreen. Sam's cheeks redden even more and she laughs nervously, nearing the camera.

"Turn it off," she demands, her hand up by the lense. Beth moves out of her grasp and a giggling Hannah is seen, not even half as soaked as Sam is.

"You _looooooove_ him," she taunts.

" _Shut_ it!" Sam snaps, and the screen goes black.

And that was just the _opening_ of the video - some music starts.

 _Warmest Part of the Winter_ by Voxtrot.

Sam introduced that band to me, back a few months ago in her car (which I'm relieved to say is parked at her apartment 90% of the time because she doesn't really need to drive on campus. I sleep a little bit easier each night just knowing this).

I had started out just listening to it whenever I missed her because it made me feel close to her for some reason - that quickly led to me having it on a constant loop around the house.

The screen flickers with various moments of our history - me, my sisters and Sam. All the others make cameos too, but it was really just the four of us that spent so much (documented) time together. It's a montage of the numerous pranks I pulled on them, many of which involved Sam just by association. I gotta admit: it's a little painful to see my sisters, but not nearly as hard as it would have been even weeks ago. I kinda have Sam to thank for that in a lot of ways.

No, I definitely do.

What I _didn't_ know, since I hadn't watched this yet because Chris was editing it, was that he was going to also include so many shots of me staring at Sam longingly. It feels like a fuckin' episode of The Office, watching Jim and Pam painfully flirt for four seasons and never hook up.

I can't believe how clear it is that I was crazy about that girl, even without coming out and saying it.

Remember how I said I'd probably always loved her?

_Yeah._

This pretty much proves that.

_Tell me you love me but don't say it with words, I wanna feel your body around me_

_And twenty years of push and pull have left you searchin' for a name_

_But maybe I have come here to die to watch the life go out of my body_

_Take apart the ugly days and you will never see the sun_

Until this moment, I haven't had the courage to look down at Sam in the theater, but when I do I can't really make out her face. Maybe this was too much.

And I don't mean for her.

Maybe this was too much for me.

Because I'm not just apologizing tonight. I'm gonna tell her how I feel. How I've always felt. That is, if I actually get the balls to do it.

_I had a name, I let it leave me_

_I had a plan to settle you in_

_I am man, I am uneasy_

_Come out come out and let me come in_

I stare back out at the movie screen. The song is coming to an end and I realize I've missed a lot of the video. And while it was just supposed to end with some white print over a black screen saying 'Sorry Sammy,' instead Chris took the liberty of editing a bonus scene, it would appear.

The screen goes black, but you can still hear the sounds of my sisters shushing each other. Hannah flips the camera around and I feel my stomach drop a bit when I see that she is in her black top and glasses, Beth in her gray sweater and beige beanie. I recognize this instantly as the night they went missing. Believe me, _I_ would know. I had to describe those outfits to like 30 different law officers.

" _Shhh!_ " Hannah hisses. I can see in their eyes they're both at least a little bit tipsy, all giggly and clumsy. " _Shut up_ , Beth! They're gonna hear us," Hannah snaps. It makes me smile; Beth was always the more serious one, so seeing Beth having a hard time keeping her composure and Hannah scolding her seems so backwards.

They turn the camera so it's front-facing and go through the back door of the lodge, quietly, where Sam and I come into view on the back patio in the snow. The camera is shaky and I can hear the girls shush each other so they can try to make out what Sam and I are saying. Usually I'd be embarrassed about this breach of privacy, but I find myself leaning forward to try to hear as well. I don't really even remember this part of the night.

Sam and I are chatting on the patio, our backs to the camera. We don't even notice that we have an audience. She turns to me and says something, laughs, puts her hand on my arm. Josh in the video doesn't even seem to notice her obvious interest, but Hannah zooms in on the gesture. I hear Beth snort out a laugh that Hannah shushes once more.

The video rolls, mostly just Sam and I appearing to flirt a bit, our touches lingering a little too long. The girls get super quiet as I reach over and get an eyelash off Sam's cheek. I brush it away and she complains that it was supposed to be a wish, that I ruined it.

"Twenty bucks says they finally admit they're in love with each other tonight…" Hannah whispers off camera.

" _Pfft_. Fat chance," Beth retorts, dryly. "They won't even admit it to _themselves_ , how can you think they're gonna admit it to each other?"

Their commentary is actually pretty fuckin' amazing, actually. God, they are so, so missed.

As I watch the scene unfold, I kinda remember what Sam and I were talking about on the porch. Granted, it's a little fuzzy since I was already drunk at this point in the evening, and then after I proceeded to go inside and get _completely_ wasted.

Sam and I had broken away from the group because she was a little down. Her loser boyfriend dumped her right before the trip. I remember he was actually supposed to come up with her and I, for one, was incredibly, selfishly relieved when he didn't. I never liked the guy. And that's not just because I was in love with her.

I didn't like him because Sam stopped coming around when she started dating him. And he didn't see the special things in her that the rest of us saw. And he was a douche.

Okay, I realize I haven't really listed one good reason but the guy was a tool and I was so glad he dumped her before she wasted any more time on him.

"What is _wrong_ with them?" Beth grunts impatiently, and Sam and I glance in their general direction.

"Did you hear that?" Sam asks me, but I just shrug and get back to telling her that she deserved better than that guy, anyway.

"Sam, he wasn't right for you," I tell her. And she sighs and nods because she already _knew_ that, too. Her face shifts into a coy smile as she asks me,

"Oh _yeah_? And who might be right for me, Josh?"

Fuck, it was so _obvious_. And I watch dumb Josh just let the question fly over his head.

"I dunno. Someone... _else,_ " was my super dumb response.

"This is painful," Hannah groans behind the camera, outlining my current thoughts exactly. So much wasted time. And then another year and 8 months afterwards. We just never seemed to get the right timing, you know?

I watch as I pull Sam in close for a hug, kissing the top of her head. She hugs me back and we let it linger wayyy too long to just be friends. I remember that moment pretty clearly. I didn't wanna let go. We pull apart and it almost looks like we might kiss or something, but instead we hear Mike yelling out for me to come take a shot, ruining the moment entirely.

Sam quietly tells me we should get inside, so Hannah and Beth scurry off quickly to not be seen, still giggling. Hannah turns the camera on their joyous faces one more time. So vibrant. So excited.

So alive.

"Maybe one day you two will finally figure it out," Beth teases into the lens. Hannah blows a kiss.

"Welcome to the family, Sam. Can't wait to have you as my sister."

The screen fades to black.

I'm not sure if I wanna laugh or cry when the video ends. Probably both. The audience is confused, quietly murmuring. I click off the projector and load the movie everyone came to see. I look down, and my breath hitches when I see Sam staring up at me through the projector window. I smile, giving her a lazy wave. I see her features flicker in the dim movie light. She smiles weakly and waves back.

I should go to her.

But I need a minute to get my head on straight.

So instead of going down into the theater and slipping into the seat beside her, I slip out the back exit instead and into the alleyway for some fresh air. I might be on the right meds, but I don't think I'll ever get a handle on my anxiety 100%.

And that's okay.

That's part of the healing: accepting that you will never have control _completely_. I'm just glad that the anxiety I'm currently experiencing is more like riding a roller coaster than free-falling without a parachute, like it used to feel. The cool air is helping, though, and soon I might even be able to go back into that movie theater if I give it a few more moments.

I don't know yet, though. Maybe I didn't think this all the way through. I begin to practice square breathing.

_In 1, 2, 3, 4, out 1, 2, 3, 4, in 1, 2, 3, 4, out 1, 2-_

"Josh?" I hear the unmistakable sound of Sam's voice call my name.

Nevermind going in there and sitting with her, apparently she came out to find me. I turn, and there she is in all of her Sam-ly glory. I feel the corners of my mouth tug and my throat feels dry, mostly because the video was just _part_ of the apology - one of the MOST important part of an apology is actually saying the words 'I'm sorry.'

She smiles sweetly without teeth, pulling her red Pea Coat tightly across her chest and adjusting her beige scarf. Red has _always_ been her color.

I give her a wave, my words getting choked up in my throat. She steps towards me slowly. The sound of her boots hitting the pavement seem to echo around us in the little alleyway but she stops short of me.

_Great, it's awkward, now. I made this awkward._

" _Whaaat_ was that?" she asks, lowly, raising her eyebrows. "Was that for me?" She points to herself, as though I wouldn't know which 'me' she was referring to. I nod. At some point, I'm gonna have to say something. "Josh? You okay?" I nod again, and she's starting to look worried, which is literally the last thing I want, so I finally blurt out,

"I'm really sorry, _okay_?"

_Wonderful._

It sounds mean and defensive, because I've never been good at this and I have _so_ much to apologize for. I ran a bothered hand over my beanie, stripping it off my head because now I feel too hot. She's not looking worried, anymore. Now she just looks confused.

"Sorry for what?"

I sigh, my shoulders drooping so low they feel as though they might unhinge. I look at the lights from the parking lot reflecting on the wet asphalt - it's easier than looking into her eyes. I spent forever on that video… I didn't even think about the actual apology. I figured I'd just wing it and it would come to me. I should have known better.

 _Typical Josh_. (Hey, I'm not crazy anymore, but I didn't say my self-esteem was completely intact, either.)

"Hey." She takes another step towards me, smiling again, but her eyebrows slope sympathetically. She taps her shoe against mine, trying to get me to look at her instead of the ground. It works; my eyes flicker to hers. "Since when are you shy?" she teases, chuckling lightly. She's got me there.

"Sam-" I begin, but she's cutting me off.

"Josh, you really don't have to apologize for anything-"

"Uh, yeah I do!" I practically shout, but I compose myself and lower my voice. I take Sam by the shoulders and resist the urge to shake her lightly. She tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me while she tries to figure out just what my damage is.

"Okay…" she hums, awaiting. I suck in a sharp breath, and I feel like the words just come vomiting out of me.

"I am so sorry, Sam. For so much, I-I can't even begin to tally up all the ways I've fucked up with you-"

"Josh," she tries to interrupt, but I'm not going to let her talk me out of an apology. I've spent way too long thinking I had nothing to apologize to her for, only to realize that she deserved the biggest one of all.

"-I'm sorry for _every_ stupid prank. I'm sorry for treating you like you meant nothing to me when you have meant _everything_ to me since I was 13 years old. I'm sorry for taking so long to realize that and for dragging you through so much shit. I'm sorry for this last few months and for never thanking you for giving my life back-"

"Josh-"

"A-and you didn't deserve any of it, Sam. I mean that. I don't, and never have, deserved you. Not once. Not before, and not even now. You never should have talked to me again after what I did to you that night-"

"Why _did_ you do that?" she asks suddenly, and I notice her eyes glistening with emotion. I know it is hard for her to ask by the way she swallows down the lump in her throat and gives a tiny shrug. "I mean, I always wondered but I never asked. Why did you single me out that night?"

I exhale. Reflect.

"I um… I wasn't really in my head, you know? But there were two reasons, I guess. Neither of them good enough." She waits, apprehension on her face that makes me feel like she isn't totally sure she wants the answer. "I knew you'd be the right one for the role, you know? It was all kind of like a movie and I wanted you to be the star. I know it sounds crazy, but I figured if anyone would be able to defeat me… it was you. And you did. You found all the clues, you knew it was me before anyone else did. But-" My words trail because this part is hardest to admit and I'm not entirely confident she needs to know this part.

"But?" she coaxes. No use in hiding the truth now, I suppose.

"But I almost scrapped the whole idea when I saw you."

"You did?" I let go of her, somberly nodding as I take a step back. Now my own eyes feel like _they're_ glistening and normally I would be embarrassed. But I'm not. Because it's okay to be vulnerable with the person you love.

"Yeah I… I had that whole thing planned for _months._ But when you actually came I had this moment of clarity. I almost stopped myself. It was crazy, the good part of me trying to outweigh the bad. I just wanted to get some time alone with you and tell you how much I missed you and how much you meant to me. I started to, actually…"

"Then what happened?" she croaks. She already knows what I am going to say. I huff out a brief, humorless laugh.

"You said, ' _we'_." She freezes and my voice is shaky as I tell her, "I told you on our way to the boiler that, you know, I was happy you came. _Specifically_ you. And when you said ' _we're all_ here for you,' I guess it made me realize that you didn't see me that way. Or, you didn't see me the way I saw you."

"Oh," she breathes.

"And I fucked up so bad that night, I don't know what I was thinking. Because, truth is…" I take in a deep breath and just spit it out. "Truth is I'm in love with you Sam. I think I always have been. And I am pretty sure I always will."

_Silence._

She just stands there, looking teary and overwhelmed, and I almost regret telling her at all. Which is silly, since she has proved over and over again what I mean to her.

Suddenly, before I get a chance to ruin the moment or backtrack, she takes me by the jacket collar and forcibly kisses me. I'm shellshocked at first, but I kiss her back regardless because, well, duh. I love her. She's a strong little thing and she pushes me up to the brick wall of the movie theater, kissing me as though she's trying to undo any pain I've ever felt, or purge herself of her own.

_Easy there, Sammy. I bruise easily._

She rips away from me abruptly, her hands pressing hard against my cheeks as she seems to take in every line and feature of my face. Her lips are chapped and raw from the violent kissing (there's a combo of words I never thought I'd use). She's breathing heavily.

"Josh, I am _so_ sorry. I-I didn't know-" she tries to apologize, but I silence her ridiculous words with another kiss because she has nothing, _NOTHING_ to apologize for.

Not now, not _ever._

We break the kiss again because it needs to end at some point (and to be honest, I'm gettin' a little worked up).

And now she's laughing. Not just a little bit. Like, a lot.

"What is _so_ funny?" I snap, which only seems to make her laugh harder. What a little psycho. I feel myself growing indignant. "Okay, ya know what? Just _forget_ the apology, little missy-" Her mouth drops open, her arms folding over her chest. There's the sassy Sam I know and love.

"Are you actually _retracting_ your apology?" she chuckles, shaking her head. "You can't _do_ that."

"Well, tell me why you're laughing then."

"Oh, it's nothing it's just… I thought you said apologies are overrated?"

I smirk.

It's true. I _did_ say that.

"Well… how am I supposed to ask you to be my girlfriend if I haven't apologized for going a little nuts and chasing you around a basement while you feared for your li-" Sam clasps her hand over my mouth, her eyes narrowed into slits and her smile tight.

"Maybe let's not keep reminding me of that night, 'kay?" I nod beneath her warm hands and she releases me. "So… girlfriend, huh? I dunno-" she begins to tease me. Yeah, I can get used to this.

"Oh, quit it. You know you love me."

Sam's face softens and her smile gets just a little bit brighter.

"I _really_ do," she tells me quietly.

"I knew it…" I whisper. Another kiss. We're so cute it's disgusting. She pokes me in the chest.

"But, you probably already _knew_ that, huh?" She asks and I shrug.

"Well, I do now."

Now, this is the part where we kiss one more time all romantically on the shimmering asphalt under the twinkling streetlights. Then the credits roll and you can assume we went off to live happily ever after and all that junk. I am a director's son, remember? Plus, I've seen my fair share of romantic comedies thanks to Hannah (Beth could hardly stomach them).

But instead, and _much_ more fitting to our romantic comedy, she reaches down and takes my hand, leading us out of the alleyway and towards the parking lot.

"Wanna skip the movie and get some food?" she suggests. For a moment I feel guilty about bailing on Chris and Ash but… how can I just say no to food? This girl knows me.

"Have you ever heard of this place called Vedge?" I suggest facetiously. Sam's head falls back in laughter.

"Pretty sure we're never gonna be welcome there again." This is true. Not after the dine and dash fiasco.

"Too bad. I was really craving beet pesto pizza."

"Oh shush, you were not."

So I'm gonna suggest the only other thing that comes to mind.

"...burritos?"

And guess what?

_She said yes._

* * *

_**February, 2017 - Four Months Later** _

" _Monster In Me: A Cautionary Tale of Misdiagnosed Schizophrenia"_

Professor Jameson plops the paper down on my desk on his way by.

With a big, fat, ' _SEE ME_ ' etched across the top.

In red marker. _(That's never good.)_

I swallow hard and slink in my chair, hiding under the hood of my sweater - there's nothing more ominous than those two words. Everyone's packing up, leaving for a long weekend (for most of us this was our final midterm. Monday is an inservice day), but I sit paralyzed in seat.

Fuck.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

So many reasons for this note run through my head: I shared too much. I didn't cite my sources. I just imagined writing the paper and instead turned in ' _all work and no play makes Josh a dull boy_ ' written over and over again for over twelve pages…

But no.

That's my paper, right in front of me, starting with a very promising (and Sam-edited) first paragraph.

 _Fuuuuck._ I don't know what I did wrong, but I needed to pass this class to move onto my anticipated schedule next term and-

"Mr. Jameson?" I call out, standing slowly when the last student finally exits the room. He glances up at me from his desk over his wire-framed glasses. I hold the paper in my shaking hand. "You wanted to see me?" He nods, his eyebrows raising in acknowledgement as he rounds his desk, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the front of it.

"Ah, yes. _Please,_ " he says, gesturing towards the empty student desk in front of him for me to sit, but I would rather stand.

"What's up?" I roll my shoulder, trying not to let my nerves give me away, but I'm sure my eyes are bugging out and I look deathly pale, like I usually do when I'm nervous.

"You said in your paper that these were real life occurrences. Is that true?" he asks me. I nod, my eyes falling from his. He's staring at my face so intensely it's like he's trying to see through me. It makes me uncomfortable. I might be all better now, in most ways, but I will always be socially awkward when I can get away with it - and even sometimes when I can't.

"Uh… yeah. A lot of it was from growing up, but it wasn't 'til this last year that things got out of control-" I stop myself. I'm not sure what he's getting at, so I sidestep, "is there a problem with the paper?"

"Oh, no. On the contrary, actually. I think it might be one of the most intriguing, well-written paper's I've come across in a long time," he compliments, and I feel my chest loosen and my breathing come back to normal. He couldn't have just written that across the top? He had to damn-near give me a heart attack?

He gives a shrug, "although, I think maybe you could have refrained from using the word 'fuck' so frequently…" he adds, and I find myself laughing awkwardly at the weirdness of a professor saying the word 'fuck' to me. He's a pretty cool dude.

"So, the paper's fine then?"

"You got an A on the assignment, if that's what you're asking. But I wanted to ask you if I could use this paper for future classes. I'd say schizophrenia is one of the most misdiagnosed, mishandled mental illnesses out there. I want to be able to teach from what you've endured." My mouth hangs open as I ponder that for a moment, because I'm not so sure how much I want my story just out there, and then I realize, it's not just _my_ story.

It belongs to my sisters, my friends, my parents. My goal in this life after treatment was to be able to help others and if people can learn from what happened to me, then, isn't that all I can ask for.

"Sure," I finally say after a moment. "Can you take my name off, though? I'd rather campus not know I'm fresh from the Looney Bin..."

"Of course," he chuckles a bit, slapping me on the back. "I have a feeling you're going to do great things, Mr. Washington."

That feels good. It's crazy to think just how much has changed in the last year.

Once I'm free to go, I put on my beanie and bundle up in my jacket to brave the cold weather outside. Campus is gray and the trees are all bare and dead. They sky is overcast and it's pretty gloomy out… and yet, I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face.

This world is beautiful.

 _Life_ is beautiful.

And I'm gonna do great things. Teacher said.

I round the corner by the library and there she is at our usual meeting spot. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the cold, even though she's wearing about twenty layers of clothing. She's sitting on the bench waiting for me, fidgeting with her cell phone.

I walk right up and kiss her, catching her off guard, but once she realizes it's me and not some rando-creep she relaxes into my lips, pressing her cold palm against my cheek. I feel her smile against me. It's everything I've ever wanted and never deserved.

" _Heyyy_. What took you so long?" She stands up, wrapping her arms around me tightly. I think it's just a ploy to get warmer, actually. Her teeth are chattering. I push her beanie up so I can get a better look at her green eyes - deep pools of Atlantic. Even more so in contrast with the gray world around us.

"I had to talk to my professor. Got an A on the paper." She rewards me with another kiss and I half expect our lips to get stuck together, ya know, like A Christmas Story.

"Thanks to my amazing editing, I'm sure," Sam says oh-so-humbly.

"Yeah, yeah…"

Sam pulls from me, taking my hand instead and we begin to walk back towards our apartment.

Yes, _our_ apartment.

That happened pretty much right after I moved out here. We were pretty good at justifying it with the fact that it was cheaper and we already spent most of our time together anyway… really, I think we both had wanted it for a long time.

I love the home we've created together, the first step in a series of exciting, terrifying steps we'll take together. I've left the decorating mostly up to Sam. There's a lot of plants. We got a cat that we _so_ lovingly named, 'Dopey'.

The place is cozy. It's surprisingly modest, considering the fact that I offered to get us a nicer place uptown. But Sam insists on doing things fairly, and that means splitting it all in half. She's still the same, feisty, independent girl that both drives me crazy and makes me fall even more in love every time I look at her.

"So, what's it gonna be tonight?" she asks me, but continues before I can answer. "Because earlier I really wanted Pad Thai but now that I'm freezing I feel like it's a night for Pho-"

I tell her she can decide, and she begins to verbally weigh out each option. I don't care, I could just listen to her talk forever. I want to.

The ring box I'm currently clasping in my pocket just proves that.

Probably a little soon for a proposal, sure. And I'm not saying I'm gonna do it right now. Just waiting for the right moment. I've had a few grand ideas I've been playing around with. Remember, I'm Josh Washington. I don't ever do anything small.

Or _sane_.

Truth be told, I bought that stupid ring about a week after she and I made things official. There's never been a doubt in my mind that she's the one I was meant to bicker with til we die.

I mean… look at me?

Who else would put up with a crazy guy like me?

I swear… I'm going to marry this girl.

This stupid,

brilliant,

pushy,

caring,

violent,

 _amazing_ girl who saved my life. More than once.

Now I'll spend the rest of it returning the favor.

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
